


Lipstick on Your Tombstone

by VioletHellfire



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: AU, Blood, Blurred morality, Discussions on Death, M/M, Magic, Septiplier - Freeform, Shounen-ai, Vampires, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 60,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHellfire/pseuds/VioletHellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Death is such a funny lie.<br/>Dear friends, all you gotta do is die."</p><p>--Calabrese</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lipstick on Your Tombstone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for AO3, and it's also my first time doing a Septiplier story, so I might not have everything down this time around. If you see something out of place, or a tag that needs to be added, please let me know. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this, and come back for the subsequent chapters. :)
> 
> Please be warned: This work contains some heavy emotions in the beginning, so if that sort of thing bothers you, kindly hit your backspace button now. Thank you.

Mark steadied his breath and leaned forward, kissing the top of the cold, hard granite.

 

Slowly, he bent on his knees, feeling the still-fresh soil underneath give slightly to his weight. It had only been a few weeks since, but he still couldn't believe it. He was gone. He was well and truly gone.

 

With a shaking hand, he reached out to the still gritty chiseled letters, tracing over each letter with a soft finger. He was alone now. This was the proof. And it wasn't fair. It really wasn't.

 

"Sean..."

 

His eyes winced at the sound of his own voice, and at the echo of the name, still resonating strong and hollow like it had the first time he said it without someone to respond to it. He still wasn't used to it. He was sure he never would be. But he knew he'd never forget it.

 

He was too much of a shell to be sad anymore, though. He was well beyond that now. His gradual decline was a fairly easy one, cradling the anchor of calamity rather than letting it go. Each day he felt a little less, until he found a comforting solace in the arms of being perpetually numb. It was better that way. It made the damage painless enough to swallow and accept. Not that he ever would, fully. Part of him still pretended that it never happened. That it never could happen. At least, not to them.

 

Gently, he placed the handful of butter cookies he had brought in lieu of flowers on the small ground in front of him, in front of the marker of their permanent separation, and covered them with the crumbs of earth still not fully compacted on top of the casket underneath. Even though he knew they would eventually rot, and even though he knew it didn't really matter, he still secretly hoped that the body underneath could reach out and enjoy them one day.

 

Mark sat back on his heels, ignoring the rocks digging into his legs by this point, and lifted his head to the sky. He inhaled as deeply as he could, holding it in as long as he could, before letting go. It felt like a fruitless effort, as he was convinced he solely did this out of a human habit, and not because he felt the need to keep doing it. He half heartedly wanted to float away on that breath, leaving behind all his weighted sorrow to join the realms beyond, behind the clouds, and just past the sun, in the lands of perpetual spring and fall.

 

But, here he was. Still here. Still tied to the terra firma, and still tied to the husk of a man he once was.

 

He clamped his eyes shut, rubbing the already red and swollen skin harder with his wrists. He curled forward, feeling his face sag with gravity. If only...

 

"Ah...excuse me, sir?"

 

Mark sat up again, turning to face the voice calling to him. He couldn't tell if he actually heard it, or if it was even directed at him, as he was still lost in his own thoughts. He blinked hard a few times through his glasses before realizing there was another man standing next to him.

 

"Oh, um...hello, there. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt or anything. I just...noticed you seemed..." he trailed off, looking for the right word.

 

"Sad?" Mark offered, a hint of sarcasm lingering at the end.

 

"Well, yes. That."

 

Mark lifted his hands, still ruddy with dirt. "Well, it is a graveyard. Seems like an appropriate thing to be, don't you think?"

 

"True. No, you're right. But you...theres a depth to what you have. It's more than loss, right? Like...like..." he trailed off again, before rounding on his thoughts, "...it's more than any one phrase can put into words. It's deep, and profound. I can...I can feel it coming off of you."

 

Mark's mouth opened as if to say something, but chose to just squint at the mystery man standing next to him instead. He took note of his long ponytail, and his clean, button down dress shirt, almost as if he was a perfectly blended hippie and businessman. Who was he? What did he want?

 

"Look, um...mister? No offense, but, if you're looking to talk to me about god, or trying you're make a 'friend' for the night...I'm not interested." Mark said, putting a slight edge to his words.

 

"Oh, no, no! Hah...nothing like that. I'm...ah..." the man made abstract gestures with his hands, words failing to come to him once again. "Here, let me start over. My name's Thomas. I help people." he said smiling, as he stuck out his hand, welcoming a shake.

 

"You...'Help people'...?"

 

"Well, yes. You can almost consider me a traveling counselor of sorts. It's...it's hard to explain, really."

 

Mark stared at him. He couldn't tell if he was serious or just trying to make conversation, albeit a weird one. Was he with someone? Where did he even come from?

 

He felt a small wind press to his face, and remembered where he was once again. The orange October sun was already casting shadows on all the stones, lined up like pretty little soldiers in the twilight of their days. Greif hits people in all sorts of ways he figured, and perhaps, this was how this particular person was dealing with his, by interacting with anyone who might hear him out.

 

"I'm Mark." he said, still unsure if he was making a mistake talking to this person, "I'd shake, but..."

 

"Oh, right, right. The dirt." he said, recoiling, thrusting his hands in his pocket instead, "Not a problem."

 

The two sat there in an awkward silence for a few moments. Then a few moments more. Thomas rocked in his shoes before speaking again.

 

"He was special to you, right? I mean...you loved him?" he said, looking toward the marker.

 

Mark's eyes slid over to the tombstone. "Yeah...I guess you could say that..."he said, the hollow timbre in his tone more than evident. Briefly, he began to see snippets of their lives together, flash like lost fireflies in his head, each one like a faded memory of happiness. Love wasn't a strong enough word for it.

 

Thomas nodded slowly, looking as if he understood an unsaid answer.

 

"Come with me, Mark. I can help you."

 

"What?" he asked, incredulously.

 

"Come to my house. It's small, and isn't too far from here..." he drifted, seeing the immediate "no" on Mark's face, "Oh, I know. strange man in a graveyard wants to take you back to his house to talk. Seems bizarre...I get it. Look at it this way, though...you're taller than me, and you look stronger than me, so I wouldn't be making a very smart choice if I wanted to attack you, now would I?"

 

Mark slowly shook his head, still a little baffled by the situation.

 

"Right. And if I wanted to...oh, I don't know...poison you or something, it wouldn't make very much sense to take you straight back to my house where you could easily escape or call out for help the second you suspected something...did I mention I lived right next door to a crowded restaurant?"

 

Mark shook his head again, this time the objection in his face softening a little.

 

"So...what have you got to lose? An hour or two of your time?" Thomas said, eyebrows lifting in anticipation of an answer.

 

Mark's head lowered for a moment to consider everything. The man beside him really didn't look like the kind to pick up strangers and then have his own morbid way with them, but then again, neither did some of the more famous inmates on death row. He was right though, that he did have a smaller frame than Mark did, and from the looks of it, he probably had about 20 years on him too, judging by the small bolts of gray in his hair, and the way his face wrinkled slightly in the corners when he smiled. He mentally played out possible scenarios of how all this could go down if he went, of what could happen, and of what might actually happen, and honestly, he liked his odds. True, he wouldn't feel good about knocking out someone's teeth, but...

 

"So...?" Thomas asked, expectantly. He rocked back on his toes to further punctuate the question.

 

"O-Ok." Mark reluctantly said, "I can't make any promises that I'll stay, though."

 

"Oh, no, no! That's fine! I wouldn't want to keep you if you didn't want to be there." he said, smiling once again, "Shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I had written this and half of the second chapter, I realized that Mark's brother IRL is named Tom. This Thomas is in no way intended to be a reflection of him. Apologies if this confuses anyone. Also, feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated, be it of the harsh or otherwise unkind variety or not. It all helps me get back on my literary feet, so to speak.
> 
> The title of this story, and the sole initial inspiration for it come from a Grave Pleasures song of the same name. Give it a listen, should you so be inclined. :)


	2. House of Mysterious Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is 4x as long as the last. Get comfortable, folks.

"Well...here we are!" Thomas chimed, hands spreading wide, as if presiding over a grand ceremony.

 

The house itself, was anything but, though. It was small, and very short, with the roof sagging a bit in the middle, and antiqued blue paint chipping off of every wooden slat still attached to the outside. It was also oddly wedged between a bustling Chinese restaurant and something that looked like it once used to be a barber shop or a beauty salon.

 

Thomas gently unlocked the front door, and Mark was immediately hit with the warm burn of incense. As he walked in, the whole atmosphere felt like it had changed. It was dark to be sure, but it felt very much like a home, soft and comforting. Most of the trepidation he had coming there seemed to fade with each carefully tended photograph and lit candle he passed, but he part of him refused to let his guard down entirely.

 

"Oh...please, sit here. "Thomas motioned, pulling out one of the two chairs sandwiching the very modest, square oak table. "I'll bring out some refreshments."

 

Mark slid into the one chair, facing the direction his host sauntered off to. In contrast to everything else, the kitchen was clinically lit, with light pouring out into the area he was in. Shelves were stacked ceiling high, and everything from what he could see had a very specific order to where it went. It almost seemed like that particular room wasn't actually part of the house itself.

 

"So...what does a "travelling counselor" do, exactly?" Mark asked, craning his neck from side to side, trying to get more of a peek at the room just beyond.

 

"Ah..." Thomas started, dropping a spoon onto the linoleum below, "Well, like I said...it's a little hard to explain..."

 

"Try me."

 

"Well, you see....I go from place to place, and I try to help people through whatever life is throwing at them at the moment."

 

"That still doesn't explain a lot." Mark stated, squinting at a label he happened to catch fluttering to the floor. Chili?

 

Thomas made a small laugh. "Words are not my strong suit, as I'm sure you already know..."

 

"I figured."

 

"So...to put it bluntly..." he said, carrying a TV tray full of things towards the table, "I drift. I go where I feel like I'm being pulled to, and I settle there."

 

Mark said nothing as he watched Thomas place the tray down, setting a mug down in front of each of them, and opening a small wooden box full of individual tea bags. Next to that was a small glass jar with what he could only guess was sugar, and a bottle of bear-shaped honey. A humble, but modern blue metal teapot sat just behind, with clouds of steam puffing out from the mouth.

 

"When I get there..." he said, pulling up a package of Oreo cookies, opening them and then setting them on the table, "I drift. I go for long walks around the neighborhood, hang out at public places, until I feel myself being tugged toward someone or something. It might take just a few days, or maybe even a few years...but when I get there, I'll know."

 

"Know what?" Mark asked, not moving.

 

"I'll know that this is where I need to be." He said, flipping through the tea bags, "Oh, this Earl Grey is actually very good. One of the best black teas I know of."

 

Mark glanced over at the box, then back at his own empty, black mug. A bittersweet smile crooked the corners of his mouth as he saw what was actually written on it...BOSS in big white letters.

 

"Oh, I thought you'd like that one!" Thomas said, nearly chirping the words.

 

Mark nodded slowly, aimlessly reaching out for a teabag. He ripped open the first one his hand landed on and plopped it in his cup, barely undoing the white string and tag. "It was Sean's thing."

 

"Ah, I see..." the older man said, carefully looking at Mark's face, "Do you want to talk about him now? No pressure or anything, I just thought..." he said, trailing once again.

 

"Well..." he drawled, eyes falling to the mug, hands in his lap, "...not much to say, really. He was...I mean..." his words lingered in the air, never completing the thought.

 

Mark let out a steadied sigh, shaking his head lethargically. "I just miss him...so much."

 

"Right. I understand." Thomas said, sipping his mug, seemingly digesting Mark's emotions that were never said. His brows knitted together for a moment, almost as if he felt a wave of what was going on just across the table.

 

"Let's try this..." he said, springing up from the table, heading toward the kitchen once again. It was so sudden that Mark didn't register the movement until he was already within the harsh white light.

 

Once inside, Mark could hear what sounded like glass jars moving around, and various cabinets opening and shutting. He could also hear Thomas muttering under it all, almost as if he was having the happiest of one-sided conversations. He still didn't feel like he should of been worried, but it was still odd, nonetheless. He carefully reached out for the kettle to finally pour water in his lonely cup, only to find it had already been filled. When had that happened?

 

Thomas came back in just a beat later, his hands clasped around themselves, a small smile perking the corners of his face. He sat down, with much care, and placed both cupped hands on the table.

 

"This..." he said, gently releasing what was in his hands, "...is a special stone. You place your hands on top of it, and give it exactly what you're feeling right now."

 

Mark looked at the stone in front of him. It was only slightly bigger than a quarter, with 3 rounded, polished corners like an overstuffed guitar pick. The whole thing shone like a new mirror, and it was also perhaps the deepest black color he had ever seen in his life.

 

He reached out to touch it, but softly recoiled. "And then what?"

 

"Well, that depends on you. On what your heart truly wants. If it wants to move on with your life, then this can help. If it simply just wants to be free from your sadness, this can help. It is, whatever you need it to be."

 

"Is this some sort of...Voodoo or Witchcraft?" Mark asked, with more than a question in his voice,  "Because--"

 

"Oh no! No!" Thomas then paused for a second, looking skyward before redacting, "Ok, well...not exactly. It is, a little, but only in the same way that tossing a coin into a fountain is. And I'm sure you've done that plenty of times, right?"

 

Mark's eyes fixated on the stone. Of course he had.

 

"If you feel uneasy about it, or just don't want to, that's fine. I wont feel offended. We can--"

 

"I'll do it." Mark heard himself say, surprised that he had. He'll do it? For a moment, he questioned on whether or not that was actually him speaking.

 

"Good, good! Ah...I'll leave you to it, then..." Thomas said, standing, "I'll be over in the kitchen, should you need me, ok?"

 

Mark casually nodded, eyes never leaving the stone. He didn't know why, but he simply couldn't stop staring at it, almost as if it was pulling him in. He barely waited for Thomas to leave before sliding the stone over to himself. It fascinated him in a way he couldn't explain.

 

His fingers tapped at the edges, it's smoothness charming his senses. It was alluring, almost beautiful in the simplest of ways. He could easily see something like this being turned into an elegant pendant, adorned with glittering, colorful, complimentary gems.

 

Mark silently snorted. Here he was, thinking about pretty little rocks and jewelry.

 

He sighed, and gently spun the stone on the table. Somewhere, part of him wanted to question what all this was, why he was even _here_. Just over an hour ago, he was alone, drifting throughout his day. And now, here he was, in someones shack of a house, having tea and playing with glorified gravel. It almost felt like a bad setup.

 

Mark picked up the stone, and held it in his left hand. It was cold, but not overly so. And for some reason he couldn't explain, it also felt empty, as if it was actually hollow inside, even though it didn't sound that way when it was initially placed on the table. Carefully, he brought his other hand on top of it, already feeling a little silly by the whole situation. He had never heard of a stone like this, let alone one that was supposed to "absorb" his thoughts and feelings.

 

"What am I doing..." he breathed, bringing his folded hands to his forehead. If he was already here, he might as well try, right? At the very worst, all he was doing was wasting time looking like an idiot, and to be perfectly honest, it wouldn't of been the first time, either.

 

He closed his eyes, and tried to still his thoughts. Briefly, he wondered if any of it would even work.

 

Within seconds though, he felt himself being pulled inward, drifting downward in ever faster spirals like leaves falling from a tree. He was freefalling, tumbling towards places that were unfamiliar, yet somehow, not unknown. He felt as if he couldn't stop it, even if he had wanted to.

 

He landed gently, feet touching the bare floor without sound. Everything around him felt polar and raw, chills immediately sliding up his legs, caressing his spine. A pang of sadness hit him as he suddenly realized where he was.

 

He was here, within himself...a place he often ignored or avoided.

 

In his mind, everything was black. He stood alone, in the room reflecting his innermost dreams and ideals, and peered into the endless void that seemed to stretch on forever in every direction, bereft of life, devoid of light. This is how he was inside. This is how his stone heart felt.

 

Mark swallowed. He could sense the darkness all around him, blanketing him, wherever he moved. It was thick, binding and viscous. He could feel himself slowly being consumed by it, sinking in it, almost drowning. He didn't move or struggle. He relaxed, and let himself slide under. This was just how it was now. This was his life.

 

He could feel the weight of it crushing him, pressing on his chest, smothering his every limb. He exhaled, and felt it squeezing him tighter, coiling around him, pressure building with every heartbeat. It would never kill him outright though. It just took pleasure in slowly suffocating him.

 

He tried to remember the good things, the things that made him happy, the things that made life worth living. He thought about his family, and thought about his friends and all the good times they had all throughout the years he had known them. He thought about his pets, he thought about his carefree childhood days, and he even thought about the first taste of coffee he had every morning, but nothing would stick. Nothing _could_ stick.

 

Nothing, except...

 

"Hey..."

 

He could hear a faint voice echo in the sheets of gloom in front of him. He lifted his head, almost afraid to look just beyond his sight of vision. He could feel his heart beat in anticipation.

 

No...this was just an illusion. Cruel games the inky ether played to make him suffer more. He shuddered a breath, willing the compression hugging his lungs to finally finish with him.

 

"Hey!"

 

He heard it again...that noise. That sweet, sweet noise. It was closer now, so much closer.

 

"Tch. Look at ya. Are you really gonna let this stuff kick your arse like this?"

 

Mark carefully looked up. It couldn't be, it really couldn't...

 

"What a fine mess ya made for yourself! I'm gone fer just a few weeks, and yer fallin' apart! Come on now, Markimoo...you're better 'n this!"

 

His eyes finally focused on the voice in front of him, and the wind left him immediately.

 

"Sean..."

 

The figure in front of him nodded his head and shot Mark a warm, sincere smile. Throughout all the mud and blackness enveloping him from every angle, Sean was the only thing visible, even emanating his own color and light. The soft amber hue surrounding his frame made him look very nearly angelic. With care, he held out his hand.

 

"I...I can't." Mark stuttered. He felt the void press down even harder, weaving it's way beneath his clothes, touching his skin. He could feel the cold sapping the warmth from his body.

 

"'Course ya can. C'mon."

 

"N-no, I--"

 

"Mark." he said flatly, looking the other square in the eye. "Take my hand."

 

"But I--"

 

"I'm not taking no fer an answer. Now, c'mon."

 

Mark tentatively pulled his arms, and tugged his legs, but he found that he couldn't really move. The hold the darkness had on him was strong, almost inhumanly so. He let out a huff, somewhere between exasperation and laughter, and let his head hang low. He felt it's grip tighten, almost burning, as he resigned himself to the impossibility of escape.

 

"I...can't..." he muttered, barely above a whisper.

 

"Ya can, and ya damn well will. Try again."

 

Mark slowly picked his head up, and yanked once again, feeling his limbs grow heavier with every twist and struggle. He could feel it stretch his skin, and threaten to rip his clothes, but still, nothing he did was getting him any closer to freedom.

 

"I can't!" Mark said, his face growing hot with frustration, "I...can't..."

 

"Once more." was all he heard in reply.

 

He breathed in heavy and deep, staring Sean straight in the eye. With all his might, he pulled his arms as hard as he possibly could, tearing his shirt, clawing his flesh. The sharp pain he felt and crystal clear anguish was almost too overwhelming, leaving almost nothing but Mark's voiceless screams in it's wake. Blood fell in brilliant ribbons with every inch exposed, the carnal cardinal color smattering itself in every direction, creating beautiful little red stars against the black. With every fraction he gained, the void would latch on with more force than before, it's unrelenting constraints growing in power and tenacity.

 

Bit by bit, he was able to free the smallest parts of himself. First his fingers, scratched and pale, then his shoulders, rust colored and angry. His arms were soon to follow, covered in shreds from his shirt and fresh lacerations, before he was finally able to pull the rest of his top half out, leaving scraps of himself behind. Mark's back, he noted, felt wet and bitter.

 

Sean took a step closer, and reached out.

Mark grabbed his hands with both of his, and held on for all that it was worth.

 

Together, they wrenched the lower half of Mark's body out of the ethers, it's claw-like tendrils leaving their impressions wherever they could. As the last of his feet left, the darkness began to waver and shift, gradually billowing until it began to lose form. It shuddered and quaked, rippling violently and quivering in a multitude of directions before collapsing in on itself and dissipating into a wispy cloud of soot and smoke, almost as if it had never existed in the first place.

 

Mark breathed in deep, and gradually felt the damage done by the void ebb away slowly. He knew the bleeding would stop, but the scars would always be there.

 

Sean smiled brightly, catching the other's attention, and clapped a hand over Mark's elbow.

 

"So...how'er things?" he said, with the greatest air of sarcasm he could.

 

Mark nearly leapt on top of him, hugging him and holding him as close as he could. All at once, he felt a flood of emotions swarm his senses, making his eyes sting, and his heart beat hard and fast. His arms shook, and his legs felt like jelly, but he wanted nothing more than to be where he was, with him, with Sean, for as long as he could.

 

Sean gently wrapped his arms around Mark, and lowered his head. "I know. I missed ya too." He tenderly ran a hand up and down Mark's back, in a soothing what little he could.

 

"Sean, I--I..." Mark could barely form words. He stuttered as he breathed in, seemingly for the first time in a long time, with his lungs burning and hoarse.

 

"Shh, 'salright, Mark. Yer alright now. I gotcha. Jus' breathe." Sean held him closer, cradling the back of Mark's head with his other hand.

 

"Jack...my Jack..." he whispered. He still couldn't believe this was all happening. If this was all a dream, he prayed that he would never wake up.

 

Sean grinned. "Jackaboy's here."

 

Mark pulled away, but only enough that he could look the other in the eye. He looked just like how he did the morning it had all happened, from his bold blue hoodie, to his stubbly chin, even down to the lizard green patch of hair on the top of his head. Softly, Mark ran the back of his fingers over the other's cheek, stopping just at the jawline. He lowered his view down to Sean's neck, and in between the folds of fleecy fabric, he could still see the burns and bruises from that day as well. His heart sank as pieces of the memory came back to him like bubbling flotsam on the river, from neighbors crowded outside their apartment, to tearing through police tape, to officers having to practically hold him back. He thought of the police station he was shipped off to, and the long interrogations, and the phone call he had to make to Sean's mother...

 

Then he remembered carrying his casket. And the flowers he dropped. And...

 

Mark felt a chill crawl up his leg like an army of insects.

 

"Hey." Sean said, shaking his head, "Not now. Not again. Promise me, alright?"

 

Mark swallowed hard and nodded. He'd try, at the very least.

 

"I...I've missed you so much, Sean. You just...you have no idea. When I come home at night....and when I wake up in the morning...and you're not... I...

And when I look for your shoes by the door, and when I don't see your mug in the sink, and when I'm by myself on the couch on weekends, I...God, Jack, I..."

 

He was at a loss for words. He had so much to say, yet couldn't find the means to express them. He wished through whatever powers there may be he could just put what he was trying to verbalize directly into the others head, the necessity of cumbersome words no longer needed.

 

"I love you, Sean. I love you so damn much. And every day you're not here, I...I don't know what to do with myself. I was nothing before you, and I'm nothing without you."

 

Mark paused, the torrent of feelings and language slipping between his fingers. "I just wish...I wish I could take you home again, and we can live our lives like how we were before this all happened. Just...happy, quiet lives. Together. Forever."

 

Sean's eyes seemed to shine with the same love and sadness, bridging the mortal gap, if only for a moment between the two. He shyly huffed, in an attempt to cover the oncoming waves of sentiment dancing just beyond his smile, his hands suddenly becoming somewhat shaky as the glow surrounding him gained steadily in luminescence. Sean's hands came up on either side of Mark's face, mouth pursed and eyes closed, as he slowly pulled him into a long awaited kiss.

 

Mark held his breath, as he felt a wash of warmth bleed into him, filling him, until it felt like he was overflowing.

 

He reached out to Jack one more time...

 

...only to find he was gone.

 

Mark opened his eyes, the sudden white halogen brightness making him squint as he threw his arms up in a feeble way of shielding his face. The room was sterile and overly lit, but it didn't feel bad or harsh. He blinked rapidly, the feeling of his sight warping and fading, smearing across his lenses, as everything drained around him in one swift motion.

 

He blinked again, and tried to focus. He saw his hands, folded, on top of a small wooden table, and an assortment of goods to his right. The smell of incense and tea floating in a gossamer unseen haze hit him next, and then the sharp contrast in lighting from where he was compared to the room just adjacent brought him back to where he started.

 

Mark gasped, the full registry of his old reality coming into focus. He heaved in as much air as he could, the sudden feeling that he was holding his breath for a long time hitting his chest heavily. He took a trembling look around, and started touching his own arms, part of him still needing assurance which side of the veil he was on. His palm crept up his midsection, to his neck, curving over his jaw before stopping at his mouth. What was all that? Was any of it real? Did he really just see Sean? Did he--

 

His thoughts broke off as he pulled his hand away. The tips of his fingers were wet. Mark briskly touched his face again, finding the lone streak leading away from his eye, and wiped it with the back of his hand.

 

"I...I need to go." he said with a wavering voice, only half caring if his host had heard him.

 

"Oh, please wait just a moment!" he heard Thomas say, the sound of him scuffling about in the kitchen telling Mark he was knee deep in...something, "I have something for you!"

 

Mark shook his head, the daze of what just happened still not fully out of his mind. He stood to leave, not even paying any mind to the older man's request, slowly opening his left hand to look at the stone once more. Is this what did it? Was this the cause of everything he just went through?

 

He lifted his arm to throw it, maybe even smash it, anything to justify the confusion worming it's way into every thought and question Mark had racing throughout his entire being. His hand clamped down on it, the tension he felt coming in waves making his grip white knuckled and fierce.

 

But he couldn't do it. Despite the overwhelming desire to lash out, he just couldn't do it for some reason. He let his arm sag, feeling the weight of it pull on his shoulder as he felt part of himself sink. It was just a rock, right?

 

He opened his hand once again to really look at it this time. It was still just as lustrous and smooth as it was before, save for the few fingerprints that lightly marked things in it's reflection. The color though, wasn't quite the same. Instead of the endless black that seemed to pull him in, it now had a haze of charcoal to it as well, and something that almost looked like gold craft glitter mixed in behind that. The more he stared at it, the more it didn't make any sense...how could it of changed like that? It was in his hand the whole time...

 

He tried to look deeper, holding it closer to his face. The fog seemed to move in listless smoky circles. Mark turned his head to the side, eyes clamped shut. He was still seeing things. Was he still in whatever dream he was in earlier?

 

"Ah, here we are..." Thomas said, snapping Mark away from his thoughts, "...I trust you--"

 

The older man stopped in his tracks.

 

"Oh...you had quite the experience, didn't you?" he said, taking in the man before him. His brow furrowed for a second before relaxing again, almost as if he was reading something other than the capricious expressions on the other's features.

 

"You could say that." Mark said, with a slight hint of venom behind it. He still couldn't figure out if he should run or break Thomas' jaw just then. He bit the inside of his cheek to try and steady himself.

 

"I see..." the other said, quietly. "You're flustered. It's...it's overwhelming. I get that. Part of you is anxious, part of you needs to..." he said, trailing, looking on with slight concern, "But you saw him, didn't you? You saw Sean again...?"

 

Mark's mouth hung open for a second in disbelief. He felt like something very strange was happening, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. How could he have known? Was it all a trick that he orchestrated? Why would he do something like that?

 

"I can see it in your face." Thomas said, seemingly able to grasp Mark's confusion, "I'm guessing most things in life don't get you riled up, but...but when it comes to him..." he said, never completing the thought. He smiled kindly, hoping the other could understand, without the use of his terrible speaking skills.

 

Mark nodded absently, his gaze oddly locked on Thomas' second shirt button. Was it really so obvious? He never usually wore his heart on his sleeve...it was almost a point of pride that he could calmly and keenly keep things like that in check, at least, to a rational level when called for it. It was a skill he acquired inadvertently when he was younger and all his other friends were falling apart around him in their own tumultuous romantic lives.

 

"I should go." he said, weakly, most of the edge twined around him seeping away gradually in loose threads. He didn't know why, but he didn't really feel like fighting or arguing anymore. Whatever happened, happened, even if he had no real reasoning or logic to pin it to. He knew it would be something he'd think about for weeks to come, but for now, he just wanted to put the whole thing to rest. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, willing the pressure building up around his temples to go away.

 

Thomas nodded. "I understand. It's...a draining event, to be sure." His mouth formed a line as he rocked on his heels for a second, looking downward.

 

"Ah...but, the stone, if you please?" he said cautiously, bringing both hands forward near Mark's chest. In between his cupped palms was a swatch of cheesecloth, and nestled in that was a variety of what Mark could only guess was a gratuitous amount of spices and other odd dried plants and vegetation. It smelled very earthy and green, and something about it reminded him of an old mossy forest, even though he had never actually been in one before. Without thinking, he plunked the puzzling rock into the mix, giving it a mental sendoff as he did so.

 

Thomas took the bundle to the table, and tied it with the greatest of care. His fingers, though puckered with age, moved deftly around the strings and folds.

 

"This..." he said, carrying the parcel back to Mark, "...is it. Take this to Sean's grave Tuesday night and bury it."

 

"What? Why?" he asked, taken aback.

 

Thomas looked up at him simply. "Well...you gave the stone your heart, right? And it revolved around him, yes? Makes sense to put it where it belongs then, wouldn't you think?"

 

"But...why? Why...Tuesday night?"

 

"It's simply closure. Every session needs an ending. And Tuesday should be a nice night...no need to do it when it's chilly or raining, I would think."

 

"Closure, huh? Then why all the leaves and stuff?"

 

Thomas shrugged. "Well...I rather like the smell of it. Thought you might as well."

 

Mark shook his head. Even more things that seemed weird, and without any real rationale behind it. He almost found it amusing at this point.

 

"Well...uh, thanks, I guess? But if you don't mind, I'd really like to get home now." Mark said, gingerly taking the bundle from Thomas and stuffing it in the front pocket of his pants. It almost made it look like he was smuggling a kitten from the size of the bulge.

 

"Oh, certainly!" Thomas said brightly, "I do hope I was able to help you feel better, even if only for a little bit."

 

"I certainly felt...something." Mark said, turning to grab the latch to the front door. As he said it, he realized that wasn't entirely a lie. Maybe throughout all the nonsense he went through tonight, he had a real breakthrough in how he was processing his grief. Or maybe just seeing Sean again...even if it was all a fantasy, helped him put some of the heartache he had to rest. Or maybe he was just to tired to tell what, exactly, he felt at this point.

 

Mark stepped outside. As he did so, he felt a strong powerful wind whip across his body, flicking his hair to and fro, causing him to take a small step back. Considering how calm it was all that day, he wondered where the sudden burst came from. He was sure they weren't due for any major storms anytime soon...

 

"Good, good! I'm glad!" the older man said, halfway standing in the doorway, "And should you need to talk to me again, you'll know where to find me. My door is always open. Well...so to speak. Heh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this one comes from a Calabrese song of the same title. Go give it a listen. :)
> 
> I will update as often as I can, but, please be patient with me, as it may take a while. Thank you.


	3. Under Saturn's Shadow

Mark awoke to the sound of his alarm promptly at 6 AM, almost surprised that his phone clock was serving a purpose again.

 

For weeks after Sean's death, he barely slept. He would pass out maybe, for a few hours, but never actually get to the restful state of sleep he so desperately needed. It was more like heavy daydreaming, where time would slip by, but somehow he was aware of what was going on around him, from the static left on the TV, to the late night cars barreling down the street, to his neighbors' morning schedules. It wasn't until all this had happened that he realized just how much went on around him when he wasn't paying attention.

 

When he finally did sleep though, he slept in heavy, dreamless, comatose sessions, often unable to hear anything at all, regardless of how loud or incessant it was. And when he would wake, from however long his body deemed he needed to pass out for, he would never feel good. His stomach was usually tied up in knots, and his tongue usually felt like shag carpeting, and that was usually after he had to deal with the industrial vice clamp that tried to split his head open. And all that was before he remembered where he was, and why the space next to him was constantly cold.

 

But today was different though. Today, he didn't feel foggy or hungover, and he actually didn't feel like he would have to swallow half a bottle of ibuprofen and supplements just to get through his day. He felt, dare he think it--normal. Not happy, not sad, but a welcoming, flat neutral.

 

He grabbed a pair of underwear, and shuffled over to the bathroom. Already he could tell he wasn't quite the morning zombie he was as of late. He tossed his toothbrush in his mouth, and cranked the hot water on the shower.

 

Mark absentmindedly raked a wad of shampoo through his hair, letting the water trail steaming little lines of liquid down his back. He hung his head, letting the steam hit him in the face as he stood there, just momentarily absorbing the heat. Slowly, he felt himself waking up more, as he let his body relax, his mind drifting in the wonderful, near scalding warmth.

 

It was Monday. He had work. He remembered that he didn't get a chance to do the laundry yesterday, because...

 

Mark closed his eyes, and carelessly moved the plastic brush inside his mouth. Thomas. And...whatever had happened at his house.

 

He was still confused, that was true. He barely spoke to him, and never even touched him, yet he left there feeling like he had just been rolled over by a tank, tired, and overstretched. But he didn't feel bad, and that part was just as disconcerting. Almost as if...he _needed_ to find the weird man in the graveyard, and _needed_ to bare his soul to a...polished rock.

 

He spit down the drain. That didn't make any sense.

 

Mark decided to just stash the whole thing away. It happened. That was it. That was the only thing he could use to explain anything. It would have to do. He bit down on his brush as he decided to finish out the rest of the shower in mental silence, thoughtlessly smoothing over the bodywash wherever it landed.

 

He dressed, made a quick cup of coffee, and got in his car. The ride to work was surprisingly easy to navigate, despite the pockets of roadwork going on seemingly at every major road and intersection. He wondered briefly if there was a holiday he was missing out on.

 

Mark pulled into the parking lot, knocking back the last bit of brew before looking at himself in the rearview, making sure he didn't have little brown spots anywhere. He smoothed over his hair, and straightened his tie, breathing in deep, readying himself for the start of a new day.

 

The building where he worked, AdCare, was a sunny beige, twice as wide as it was tall, and lined along the front in simple, ornamental bushes. The outside made it look like a small hospital, which is why they had to install employee cards not long after it had opened. Mark swiped his, and made a beeline to the second floor.

 

Mark said his hellos to his fellow coworkers, this time genuinely meaning it and not just doing it by rote. He threw on his lab coat, only buttoning it up halfway, and popped his headphones in. He slid over Friday's paperwork, and Wednesday's results before opening his notebook, and losing the better part of his morning to analysis and numbers.

 

"Hey." he heard someone call out to him. He turned and tossed one of the headphones off.

 

"It's just about 1 o'clock. You should eat something before it gets too late."

 

Mark's eyes shot down to his phone sitting idly nearby, and then immediately back up to the woman in front of him. "Oh...wow. So it is."

 

"You coming down to the breakroom?" she said, a hint of tired lingering in her voice.

 

"Yeah, I suppose so." Now that he thought about it, a soda seemed like a really good idea about now.

 

"That's good. I'll have some company, then. Everybody else went down to the taco truck parked outside."

 

He gingerly tossed his music aside, halfway rearranged what was left of his morning work, and stood. As he did, he felt his whole back shudder awake, telling him yes, he really was hunched over for five hours straight. Mark almost couldn't believe that he didn't think to take a break in all that time. It was good, though, as it also told him he was getting his focus back and that now, maybe, he wouldn't need to take some of it home with him.

 

The two passively made their way down to the first floor, heading down the bright corridor and turning left when the path had finally split. Pushing past the weighted door to the room just beyond, it seemed as if the whole building was out. Not a person was to be seen, the communal TV was off, and even the faint smells of someones experimental home cooking were missing as well. Was the whole building at that taco truck?

 

The woman Mark was with sat down at one of the white little dinettes with a sigh, letting her shoulders roll forward and her head sink close to the table. She took off her cream colored cat eye glasses before settling herself back upright, her deep honey hands pinching the bridge to her nose.

 

"Ugh...Mondays always seem to last the longest, don't they?" she sighed.

 

Mark shrugged, sliding a few singles into the nearby vending machine. "At least there are no meetings today."

 

"True, true. Ackerman and his damn charts. _Tch_." She said, not really moving.

 

Mark slid into the chair across, cracking open his cola and downing a good third of the bottle before coming up for air. He didn't realize he was that thirsty until now. Yet more evidence of where his focus has been lately.

 

"That all you're having?" she asked, eye peeking out from under her hand.

 

"Uh...yeah. Not really hungry or anything."

 

"Fischbach, what did I tell you about taking care of yourself?" she asked, sitting up. One of her dark cherry colored braids fell forward as she did.

 

Mark flinched at the sound of his last name. "I told you not to call me that."

 

"And I told _you_ that you cant live on sugar and caffeine!"

 

"Tch...ok, _mom_." He brought the bottle to his mouth almost as an act of defiance, eyebrows raised, dramatically knocking back half of what was left, ending with a grunt of pleasure.

 

"Heh...see? That's the Mark I remember!" she said, smiling, "I meant to say something earlier, but you seem...better today. Not as...well, brick wall-ish."

 

He sheepishly looked down at his hands, slowly picking at the label. "Thanks. I...I actually feel a little better." He really didn't know what to say after that.

 

"Aw, sweetie, that's good. It kind of broke my heart seeing you like that. I mean, I understood and all, but still." she slid her hand across the table to grab his, smile widening.

 

Mark meekly grinned, head still pointed down. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a little embarrassed at the conversation, and partially at how he was inadvertently acting toward everyone. He really didn't mean to, but then again, he couldn't really help it, either.

 

"I know it hurts sometimes..." she said, studying his face, "But that just means that what you had was something special, and won't be easily forgotten. Honestly, most people can only wish to have something like that. And...some people don't even get close, y'know? Don't ever forget that."

 

He nodded, feeling a small wave of memory and emotion crash on top of him. He bit the corner of his bottom lip, swallowing down as much of it as he could, before the rest of his body could react, and before he let himself dwell on it too long. He was trying, he really was. Surprisingly though, it was much easier than he thought it would be.

 

"I'm sorry..." she said, straightening up, "Here you are, having a good day, and then I come in with all the touchy feely stuff. _Pssht_." she darted her head to the side, mouth twisted.

 

"It's ok, Jessica. Really. I appreciate the sentiment. I really do." he said, looking up at her, "It's just...sometimes...hard to process."

 

She looked over at him, head perched on her left hand, nodding. With her right, she made a finger gun, and proceeded to shoot herself. "Just tell me to shut up next time."

 

The two spent the remainder of the hour in slow, easy conversation, chatting about anything that came to mind, from the new movies that were out, to weekend plans, before rounding back again on work. They talked about the new heart valve prototype their team was working on, and why the last few attempts didn't quite work out as well as they had planned. For every biology based question she had, he would shoot back with a dozen or so engineered answers, neither of them really solving any problem one had with the other. Eventually, the topic broke down into near science fiction territory, ending on a dozen or so H.G. Wells jokes and steampunk puns before heading back to work, both wearing a better expression than they had when they first had arrived.

 

Mark finished out the rest of his day much like how he had started that morning, hunched over slightly, but constantly busy, letting time slide beneath his fingers and under the ever growing stack of things done and to be done. He almost felt naked walking out of there that day without a stack of things under his arm, or a cloud of guilt and regret hanging over his head.

 

The ride home was just as uneventful as it was when the sun was first getting up, hardly a car on the road or person to be seen. Mark made it back in near record time, silently grateful for the lack of time and gas wasted. He pulled into a space just outside his apartment, and grabbed his mug from the cupholder, his actions feeling wonderfully familiar.

 

Before he made it to the front door, his ears caught a muffled squeaking noise coming from just a few feet behind him. Mark looked over, and saw the birdfeeder his upstairs neighbors had put out on one of the lonely, thin, oak trees outside rocking back and forth slowly, seeds gently spilling onto the tiny patch of grass underneath. He set his mug down and skipped back down the steps, a small smirk creeping up on his face.

 

With care, he lifted the lid of the feeder, it's faux wooden roof catching slightly on the chains that held it up. An absolutely fat grey squirrel came barreling out, it's cheeks still full with ill-gotten goods.

 

"Pumpkin, what have we talked about?" he said, facetiously scolding the overstuffed rodent, "If you're going to get _into_ the feeder, you need to know how to get _out_ of the feeder. This is the third time this month, buddy."

 

The squirrel looked at him blankly, it's jaws grinding away. Mark shook his head, silently acknowledging that he'd probably be doing this same thing in a few days, just as he and Sean had done for the better part of the year. He smiled, as a few faint memories came to him, the thoughts of the fading summer still dancing in his head. As many times as it had gotten caught in there, it never seemed to learn it's lesson. He walked back up the steps, grabbing his cup.

 

Mark unlocked his front door, and hooked a finger into his collar, loosening his tie, rolling his head around slightly as he did so. He tossed his keys back in his pocket, finally pushing open the door all the way, feeling the warm fuzz of home hit him. He sighed deeply, letting his shoulders sag, as the scent from his usual morning routine still hung faintly in the air, from the tinge of cold coffee grinds to the wisps of new leather coming off of his couch, down to traces of anything he had used on himself in the bathroom. Beams of light broke through his living room and kitchen windows, their golden streaks catching the few dust motes that floated in suspended sways.

 

He plodded past the living room, set his mug down on the kitchen table, and made his way over to the bedroom. He sat on the wide bed, only half unkempt, and kicked off his shoes as he unbuttoned half of his shirt. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of one of Sean's old sneakers, tucked just beyond the end of the nightstand.

 

Mark lowered his head, and pinned his arms firmly on either side, bent slightly at the elbows. He closed his eyes, feeling another rush of emotions come cascading down from all corners, pinching and twisting his heart here and there, as fragments of his former love flashed just beyond his eyes. Mark swallowed dryly, and took a deep, cautious breath, letting it flow through him rather than fighting it.

 

He could see the last weekend they spent together, before both of their schedules conflicted with one another. It was just after new years day, and the streets outside were still silent with winters chill and the morning after hangover. Both of them were planted on the couch, never changing out of their pajamas, just lazily flipping through channels on TV. It was so peaceful, and so uneventful, but the memory still filled him with bittersweet happiness.

 

He opened his eyes, and thought about that for a moment. This was the first time something like that hadn't made him completely miserable. The first time he could fondly remember pieces of Sean, and not be wracked with unbearable sadness. It was alarming to think about. Was he letting go of Sean? Was he starting to forget? Why did he have such a day and night reaction to--

 

Mark's eyes drifted over to the hamper by the closet. The pants he wore the day before still sat in a crumpled heap on top, with the mysterious bundle poking out just beyond his pocket.

 

The things Thomas had said started floating back in his mind. _This...is a special stone. You place your hands on top of it, and give it exactly what you're feeling.-- W_ _hat your heart truly wants. If it wants to move on, if it simply just wants to be free from your sadness, this can help. It is, whatever you need it to be._

 

Mark's eyes slowly refocused as he let the words sink in a little bit more. Was what he did yesterday really the reason behind his sudden control? Could a simple rock be that great of a conduit of change? Did he really give the stone...his heart? It was a bizarre conclusion, to say the least. But, strangely, it seemed to make sense. This must be why he slept through the night, and why he didn't feel like utter garbage this morning. This must be why he was able to function properly at work, and why he wasn't fixated on changing the past. It was the only thing that was different from all the other days since--

 

Mark snorted. Maybe he was going crazy, too.

 

He fell back on the bed, wrists near his head, as he stared off into the ceiling. If he was going crazy, at least it was a good kind. He could totally deal with being this kind of vanilla for the rest of his life.

 

His stomach gurgled at the idea, suddenly reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything all day. He groaned, not really wanting to move from where he was, secretly wishing food could just materialize from the air, so he could have his fill and still be comfortable. He really couldn't understand where his energy went recently, and it was starting to make him feel rather lazy.

 

Mark sat up, and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, haphazardly tossing it into the laundry basket. The wash could wait another day. For now, that package of picante shrimp ramen he had in the cupboard was calling his name.

 

***

 

The next morning was much like the last, blessedly devoid of self inflicted complications and free from the drag of indigo melancholy. He went through his usual routine, mindlessly, but happily, even taking time to shave his face, which, admittedly, he had ignored mostly for the past month or so. Not like most noticed, anyway. His hair never grew in more than a slight coating.

 

He made his coffee, only rinsing out the mug from yesterday as opposed to actually washing it, savoring the dark perfume that wafted throughout the apartment as it brewed. Before he made his cup, he remembered the pile of dirty clothes in the bedroom, and the fact that he had no clean underwear after today, so Mark quickly gathered the mess together and took the basket outside, nestling it in the backseat of his car. Strangely, the pants from Sunday night were on top, despite throwing other things over them since.

 

Mark left soon after, having just an unremarkable of a day as he did only 24 hours before, from the lack of traffic, to the ease of getting to work, to the steady drip of things getting done, to the small interactions with coworkers. It was such a simple passing of time that Mark almost skipped out on his lunch break again, even after Jessica had pointed out how late it was. In a way, he found it was oddly comforting to feel so mundane and ordinary, but it was still odd, nonetheless. He left just a little while after everyone else did, arms once again free from any take home work.

 

Mark casually headed to his car, keys lightly rattling in his pocket, unseasonably warm air hitting his face. He popped open the drivers side door, and plopped down in the front seat, rolling his head back on to the little beige cushion, letting the work day bleed out from under him. He sighed, breathing deep, as he caught the scent of aged earth and wood, the familiar odor causing him to tilt his head back up.

 

He looked through his rearview, and caught sight of the pants again, the herbal sachet displayed neatly on top, almost as if it were posing. He stared at it, not really focused on it, feeling the tickle of a memory reach at him from behind, slowly drifting forward like a forgotten phantom.

 

_Take this to Sean's grave Tuesday night and bury it._

 

Mark blinked, still never taking his sight off of the mirror. It was Tuesday, that was true. And, just as predicted, it was actually a fairly nice day out. Admittedly, he didn't plan on visiting Sean's grave until tomorrow, when the everyone in the building generally had an early dismissal, and he would of had time to drive there before the cemetery gates were drawn. Briefly, he looked over at the clock on his dashboard, and subtracted the time it would take to travel...

 

He mashed both hands to his face and rubbed, head falling back again. Was he really considering this? Was he really going to rush down there and paw at the dirt on the whim of a total stranger? And why? Why should he? Did it really matter if he did or not?

 

That small, naïve part of him that wanted to trust in others spoke up. It reminded him of how it's been since he met Thomas, and how he felt the day after Sunday, and how nice it was to not be a wreck of a man. Didn't he at least owe him a gesture of gratitude, even if he wasn't there to see it?

 

Aimlessly, Mark grabbed a coin from the ashtray. He was getting real tired of being haunted by something he didn't understand, let alone want in the first place. Heads, he goes, tails, he chucks the whole thing in the trash and wipes away the memory as best as he can.

 

***

 

"Stupid coin..." he muttered, only halfway meaning it, as he closed the door to his car, bundle in one hand, keys in the other. He still couldn't believe he left his evening up to chance, and that chance had chosen to make him break a few minor traffic laws just to get there. Even with the miracle of completely avoiding the usual rush hour home, he still only had about a half hour until closing, so he knew he had to make the best of what he could.

 

He thoughtfully approached the row of stones where Sean lay, and slowed his pace a little. He felt that familiar coil form in his stomach, that same anxious disbelief that took hold of him whenever he saw those same chiseled letters, letters that meant so much to him, yet, filled him with bitterness and melancholy. Mark locked his jaw tight, swallowing stiffly, as he willed himself to gain control his heart.

 

Once there, he steadied his breath and leaned forward, kissing the top of the cold, hard granite.

 

"I'm here early, I know..." he said, letting his voice trail off as he slowly bent to his knees, feeling the soil underneath still give way to his weight. He pocketed his keys, and carefully held out a hand to trace the still gritty characters in deliberate, slow movements, eyes softening after each one.

 

It still hurt. It still hurt to be there, in front of the lifeless gray stone, that same stone that part of him refused to believe existed. He knew it was real though, that the part of him that so vehemently denied it was doing so out of loss, out of sadness and regret. Every time he had to remind himself of the fact, he could feel his chest sink and the sting of heartache blossom, opening the same wound time and time again that he knew would never fully heal.

 

Mark dipped his head forward, unconsciously, lost in the same ongoing train of thoughts he had anytime he was there. He missed him. He missed him so badly. And he would give the world just to be with him again.

 

His eyes drifted over to his hands, still cradling the strange parcel. There was a reason why he was here.

 

"I...I have something for you. I think. I'm not entirely sure..." he said, gaze flitting back and forth from the tombstone to the bundle, "It's, uh...well...it's supposed to be something special."

 

Mark picked his head up, and looked around. For some reason, he was half expecting to see Thomas poking his head around, talking to other people about his "counselling" services. He was thankfully alone, save for the groundskeeper that was near opposite from where he was. Seeing him though, usually meant visiting time was over.

 

Mark took a deep breath, and began scraping at the earth just next to his knees, away from where the cookies he placed there on Sunday were, taking care not to make too much of a mess. He knew others did the same thing when they visited their loved ones, burying trinkets and other things the dead would of liked, but, for whatever reason, he felt suspicious doing it just now, near twilight, with a tiny mystery bag of...things. Things which, if asked, he couldn't defend nor explain. He tried not to think about that as he went, uncovering a good sized pocket of dirt in, seemingly, no time.

 

Delicately, he placed the sachet into the hole, pausing before covering it back up. He felt as if he should say something, though what, he had no idea. He only really had one thing he could think of, and he felt, it was the only thing he really needed to say.

 

"I love you, Sean...I always will." 

 

With both hands, he brushed the soil back into place, pressing it with care where it belonged.

 

As he stood, Mark heard the church bells ring in the distance. It was time to go.

 

***

 

It was around 3 in the morning when Mark heard a knock at the door.

 

It started softly at first, still audible, but with enough behind it to be heard. It took a moment for Mark to surface from where he was in sleep, not really knowing if he heard it or not at first. As it sounded again, he tried his best to ignore the noise, hoping it was one of his neighbor's stoner buddies that got locked outside and temporarily lost. It wouldn't of been the first time it happened.

 

The knocking continued though, a bit louder than before. Mark cursed under his breath, willing the stranger to just turn around and go away. It would figure that once he actually could sleep through the night that something like this would happen. Didn't people have jobs to go to? He knew he did. And the thought of walking into work half asleep made his mouth twist in annoyance. He closed his eyes, and tried to relax, hoping whomever was at the door would get the idea by now.

 

More knocks. Louder knocks. Incessant knocks.

 

Mark threw the blanket he was under off, brows knitted into a stiff knot, as he fumbled for his glasses by the nightstand. Whomever was there was an idiot, he was sure. And he sure as hell was going to let them know. He groped around in the dark, and grabbed the first shirt his hand landed on.

 

He shuffled toward where the sound was coming from, feet not really picking up from the floor, as he raked a hand through his hair.

 

Another knock.

 

"Go _away_." he said gruffly, the sleep still hanging heavy in his voice. He leaned on the door with his shoulder, half hoping the person behind the door would be at least coherent enough to realize he had the wrong address. Or, at the very least, he hoped his tone would tell them off otherwise. He tried to catch a glimpse of the offending person through the peep hole, but he couldn't make out much. The police had cracked the small glass eye when they took away evidence. He could see gray clothes, but, that was about it.

 

More knocking. Louder than before.

 

"I don't have any money, and I don't want whatever you're selling. Now either leave my door alone, or I'll call the fucking _cops_."

 

The knocking turned frantic, almost pounding. The pictures near the door even started to rattle from the force coming from the other side.

 

That was it. Mark had had enough. Whomever this was, was going to get it from him now. He was tired of trying to be nice to someone who obviously dumb as a doornail, and just as considerate to boot. He undid the locks on the door, swinging it open wide, with enough salt ready on his tongue to make any sailor blush.

 

"For c _hristsakes_ , what the hell do you--"

 

Mark stopped cold. His mouth hung open, the thought dying on his breath. 

 

Then, he felt his whole world stop.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit on the boring side, yes. But a lot of things come into play later on, so, some setup was needed. Things pick up from here, though. I promise. Thoughts and comments always greatly appreciated. 
> 
> The name of this chapter comes from a Tiger Army song of the same title. Go give it a listen, should you so be inclined. :)


	4. The Dead Don't Rise

Mark had no words. And even if he did, he wasn't entirely sure he would be able to vocalize them. Inside, his mind was reeling, spinning, sending a rush of blood to his head so quickly that he could of fallen over at just a touch, or even at the sound of something other than the rapid heartbeat drumming heavily in his ears. His breath hitched as he felt himself stiffen, body moving involuntarily backwards, daring for his feet to catch up. He was sleeping, still dreaming, he was sure of it. This wasn't real. None of it was. Soon his alarm would go off, and he could nestle himself in the welcoming arms of a hot shower, and let this nightmare he was having slide off his body and disappear down the drain just like yesterdays dirt.

 

"Heh...uh, top o'the morning to ya, Mark..."

 

Mark slowly shook his head, as his back suddenly hit a wall. The sudden impact made him jump slightly, eyes never moving off of the figure in front of him. It was speaking. It was speaking to him. It knew who he was. It knew his name. Was this a ghost? Was he being...haunted? No...things like that just didn't exist. Ghosts don't exist. Dreams weren't real. This was all just a fantasy his head was putting on while he slept, still trying to process his grief, still trying to sort out his feelings. It had to be. He wouldn't believe it otherwise.

 

The figure took a step forward, as Mark tried to back up further, forgetting that he couldn't meld with the hard surface behind him. It was coming in. It was coming towards him. Why? What did it want? And why did it want him? Why was it here? And why did it look so much like...

 

"Mark..."

 

It took a few steps further in, raising it's hands slightly. With each step, it tracked in clumps of soil, falling in graceless little lumps as clouds of dust drifted down from the folds of fabric whenever it moved. The overwhelming scent of fresh earth and pine filled the air, mixed with something bitter, and reeking of an obnoxious chemical component. It was death, Mark was sure of it. Either this...thing... _was_ dead, _is_ dead, or was looking to make someone that way.

 

He left the wall, and began to cautiously back up into the kitchen, his balance still off from the sheer disbelief and fear hammering throughout his body, his fight or flight response working in overdrive. For a dream, this all felt remarkably too real.

 

"Mark, please..."

 

It walked in closer, cautiously attempting to close the gap between the two. Even throughout the darkness of the apartment, the streetlights outside cast a soft enough glow on the interior that Mark could see it's face, eyes wide and drawn into a concentrated point, almost as if it were trying to tame a wild animal. Almost as if it were trying to tame _Mark_.

 

It was unfair. It really was. This figure, this... _thing_ , looked, acted and sounded just like him. But it couldn't be, it couldn't be him. He was gone. He knew it. He remembered him resting on a stretcher as they took him away, under a cold sheet, his face relaxed, peaceful and pale. He remembered seeing his death certificate, a stark black and white page, with his name sprawled all over it. He even remembered the viewing, where he held his hand for one last time, before he had to let go, for good.

 

Mark flinched at the memory, as his feet stumbled over a chair, making him backpedal straight into the refrigerator with a thud. For a moment, the wind left his body from the impact, as he watched the figure creep slowly further in, arms raised just a bit higher, eyes still locked on him.

 

This was it. this was as far as he could go. The figure had him pinned in his own kitchen, with the only exit currently being overshadowed by the paradigm of death.

 

" 'S me, Mark... _Jackaboy_."

 

His head shook from side to side once again, almost automatically, as his hands absently moved around behind his back, looking for something, anything, to help him out. This wasn't Sean. This couldn't be Sean. Sean was in the ground. He knew it.

 

Mark's hand landed on the drainboard, feeling past the bowls and plates, fingers caressing across the kitchen knife still nestled in between one of it's slats. He gripped the handle, feeling the rubber compress from under his nervous hold, waiting silently. He didn't want to attack anyone if he didn't have to, but he also didn't want to be caught unaware, either. If this thing was going to come after him, he wasn't going to go down without a fight...real or not.

 

"Remember...?"

 

The figure was close now, close enough that Mark could feel the grit in the air around it, and the chill coming off of it's fingers. Everything about it was gray, from the suit it wore, to the ash tone of its skin, to the dull pallor of its eyes, almost as if it all once had color, but had long since been washed away, leaving nothing but a faded shell behind. It looked at him, studied him, pausing just a mere foot away. The figure then straightened out, hands still defensively put forward, as it's face seemed to take on a more subdued look. It almost looked...vulnerable.

 

"I...I know this is strange. Trust me. I wouldn't even know where ta begin ta tell you what's happened...or even how..."

 

The figure paused, letting the silence drag out, seemingly as if it were trying to come up with just the right words. It's eyes shifted down slightly, as it's mouth opened, cascades of words unsaid falling past it's lips. Mark couldn't help but still feel on edge though, constantly flipping between which reality he was in, and why. He glanced over the figure once more, watching it's arms lower, almost relaxing under the circumstances as it fought within it's own language. It's eyes reconnected with his as it spoke.

 

"God, Mark...I've missed ya so much..."

 

The figure reached out, right hand aiming to touch Mark's face, cold fingers still curled and caked in dirt.

 

Mark recoiled, gritting his teeth, as he brought the blade down over his head, hoping to connect with some vital part, any part, that would help him get away, or at the very least injure it enough that he could overpower it. He had no idea if any of it would work, because he had no idea what this thing even _was_ , but it was all he had to go on at the moment. And it would have to do. He was out of options at this point.

 

Mid swing, he was stopped by the figure's other hand, both of their limbs quivering in a bid for shaky dominance. Mark tried to push back with his left, gripping it's soil coated coat, eyes squinting through the smoky clay that billowed off in great clouds. The figure simply took his hand into its own, pinning it back with it's spare, keeping the both of them in an unsteady stalemate.

 

" 'S _Sean_ , Mark..." it said in a strained voice, just a few inches from his face, "...don't you remember...?"

 

"You're not!" Mark shouted, face twisted in a mix of confusion and sadness, "You're not Sean! Sean is _dead_!"

 

"But I'm not now, see?! I'm...I'm right here! In front of you!"

 

"N-no! Sean is...! Sean...is...!"

 

Mark could barely form words. He felt his jaw shudder from the turmoil bubbling from inside his head and just beyond his heart, both on unequal grounds, one telling a different story to the other.

Logic told him that this wasn't real, that dead people don't just rise from the ground and come back to life. Things like that happened in movies, not in waking life. It wasn't possible. But somewhere deep inside his chest, he wanted it, wanted it to be true in the worst possible way. He wanted to believe that whomever or whatever was standing in front of him, right now, covered in soil, reeking of death, was Sean, and that the both of them could continue to go on, living, loving, just being together until the end of their days.

 

Self preservation told him to run, to get away, to leave whatever illusion this was behind and forget any of it happened. The rest of him just wanted to fall to the floor, and accept whatever was coming to him, to let whatever creature this was carry him off and end this ongoing ordeal.

 

Oh, how he just wanted to wake up so badly at this point...

 

Mark felt his arm tremble with fatigue, both physically and emotionally. He surrendered his near white knuckled hold on the blade and allowed his hand to open, letting the knife fall to the floor beside them with a clatter. Slowly, he let his body melt and slide against the refrigerator, knees giving out halfway, his ribs barely containing the frantic beating inside. He was done. He couldn't take it or fight it anymore. He didn't have the strength to.

 

The figure followed him down, kneeling just beside him, taking both of his hands into it's own. It stared at Mark expectantly, watching, waiting, trying to anticipate his next move, for better or for worse. Mark just continued to stare blankly at a distant point in the celing, mouth parted slightly, sounding almost as if he was a bit out of breath.

 

"I don't expect you to believe me, or take me in right away...God knows if this was t'e other way 'round, I wouldn't know how ta handle it either..." the figure said, in a quiet, somber tone, eyes darting to the side for a moment as it gathered it's thoughts, "But just know...I would never hurt ya. Regardless of...of what ya think of me..."

 

The figure sank back further on the floor, letting go of Mark, head pointed downward, almost as if it was accepting judgment, waiting for the other to lift a hand to either touch or strike it. In the yellowed glow from the streetlights outside, it remained still and silent, much like a stone gargoyle would, perched atop a church, fixated in reverence.

 

"Sean..." Mark said, flat and unsure, gaze still distant, "...is it really you?"

 

"I don't think I could be anyone else." it said, head picking up.

 

"How do we know for sure?" he asked, head rolling to the side, eyes still heavy with question, now looking the figure in the face.

 

"We can't, really. Well...to a point, anyway. I _did_ just dig myself out of a Sean's plot not too long ago, so, maybe that helps..." it said, with a demure, almost unnoticed smile breaking across it's face.

 

"But I remember..." it said, eyes drifting downward, "I remember the life I had before I died. I remember my family, and I remember my job, and I remember how awesome cookie dough ice cream tastes, and I remember how much it sucked getting up in the morning sometimes, and I even remember that little shit Billy down at the Royal..." it said, lightly grinning, "Of course, _he's_ still alive..."

 

The figure inched closer to Mark, careful not to make too many sudden movements, still reading as best as it could into the others face. "I remember all _this_..." it said, gesturing around them, "...the apartment. I remember hating how hot it would get in here in the summer, and I remember Stoner Dave trying to give us 'green cookies' one Christmas, and I remember how we almost set fire to the microwave once by leaving a fork in there..."

 

It slowly clasped his hands around Marks once again, as it's face softened into something that resembled quiet happiness. "But what I remember most...is you. I remember us. And I remember the life we used to have. Good times, bad times...all of it. Even if...I had forgotten everything else, I don't think I could ever forget the one person in this world who always made me happy. Who I felt safe with. Who I loved..." The figure drifted off, it's voice catching, as it swallowed deeply, trying to recollect itself, "I love you, Mark. I love you so damn much that it hurts. And even if...you never believe me, and even if you decide to shut me out...I won't stop. I'll never stop. I wouldn't even know how. You're as much a part of me as...as my soul and my memories are...and...and I..." The figure lost it's words, eyes falling to the floor, as if nothing more could possibly be said even if it tried.

 

Mark felt his heart crack. More and more, he was starting to believe this was him, that this was Sean, and that some unbelievable miracle of neither nature nor science decided to bring them back together. Why, or for what, he couldn't even begin to fathom, but at the same time, he didn't really care, either. He almost _needed_ this to not be a fantasy, or some kind of lucid dream, despite the still small screaming voice in the back of his mind that was so desperately trying to tell him otherwise. This thing, this figure, this...almost Sean obviously wasn't here to take him down, or to harm him in any way, otherwise it would of made it's move already...right? There was plenty of time in between losing his defenses and very nearly losing his mind that it could of done pretty much whatever it wanted to, three times over.

 

He squeezed the figure's hand that was still wrapped around his own, breathing deep. As he did, he felt that same warm light that they used to have together worm it's way up his arm, striking his chest, letting long locked away feelings come ebbing out, making the crack in his heart throb, despite the graveyard chill still coming from the figures body.

 

"Sean..." he said, cautiously, giving himself a moment to register the feeling of the name again, "...Where do we go from here? Where...where does this leave us? I mean...are you even alive?"

 

Sean picked his head up, as a wash of relief melted over his features. Mark believed him, or at least, was willing to try to believe him. And he honestly couldn't ask for anything more than that.

 

"I...I don't know, really. I don't know what I am, or if I'm technically living or not. I mean, clearly, I can move and talk, but...I can't feel my heartbeat. At all. And breathing seems optional now too."

 

Both of them sat in silence for a minute, just letting the information sink in. The air around them hung thick with trepidation and bewilderment.

 

"Do you...do you want brains or something?" Mark asked, pricked with apprehension, but altogether amused at how ridiculous the question sounded. He couldn't believe that was an actual serious inquiry that just left his mouth.

 

"What?" Sean asked, almost incredulously, "Oh _god_ , no. No. No brains fer me. Pretty sure I'm not a zombie, at least. I think I'd be a bit more worse for wear if I was. Plus, I can actually talk and all. Fairly positive that zombies either moan or grunt to communicate."

 

"Yeah, but...that's movie stuff. Have you ever met an actual zombie before?" he seriously couldn't wrap his head around what he was saying. Maybe he really did lose his mind.

 

Sean snorted. "You feelin' ok, Mark? 'Have I ever met a zombie before?' Really?"

 

"I have _no idea_ what to feel anymore..." he said, letting his head fall to the appliance behind him, eyes fluttering shut. The statement felt more true than he was willing to admit.

 

"How are you feeling though? Like...are you in pain? Or...?" Mark asked, head tilted slightly back at Sean.

 

"Oh, you know. Burrowing through 8 feet of dirt, vomiting up formaldehyde for a good hour, walking for miles down to where I used to live in my bare feet, scarin' the shit out of the one person I truly care about and then nearly bein' stabbed by him...I'm just _booper dooper_ , Markimoo."

 

Despite everything that happened, and despite how ragged he felt at the moment, Mark found himself smiling. If he had any doubts before, they no longer existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to Gryffindor and to those who guessed correctly on the last chapter. (Did I telegraph it too much?) I kind of had to squish 2 chapters together last time just to keep things interesting, so, apologies if I ruined anything.
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from a Calabrese song with the same title. I *implore* you to go watch the official video for it, especially if you love good stupid humor and awesome music like I do. :)


	5. Seven Caged Tigers

Mark sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a steaming cup of coffee, desperately trying to collect his thoughts. Sean was back. He actually came back. He dug through the ground, and defied death and the laws of nature, only to show up here, at the apartment they both once shared. He was truly here, in a physical form, and not just as a phantom memory. A very small part of him still couldn't believe it, despite what evidence said otherwise, and still insisted that what he needed was a good nap and a heavy slap of reality to wash it all away. Was he too quick to believe in him? Was he being too naïve in his grief? What if his first instincts were right, and he really _was_ a deamon of some kind, sent to drag him down into the black abyss of the underworld?

 

He snorted at the thought. Because deamons would _totally_ be taking an hour long shower right now, complete with partial singing.

 

Still, something was there...something strange, something supernatural. Even if Sean had only been poisoned to _look_ like he was dead, and even if the murder scene was all just a lie, that still wouldn't explain...anything. He had been embalmed, and buried for about a month...both of which would of killed any normal human being on their own. Add that with the lack of breathing or a heartbeat, and the fact that he currently felt like refrigerated meat...something definitely unexplainable was going on.

 

Mark took a mouthful of his plain black coffee in, as he heard the squeak from the shower handles being turned. It only took a moment after for Sean to come out, dressed fully in a plain tee and jeans, with plumes of steam following him behind.

 

" _God_ , I can't tell ya how good that felt..." he said, fluffing his hair with the towel that was draped around his neck, "Dirt gets in the _weirdest_ of places. I had ta use half the bottle of wash in there jus' ta feel _human_ again."

 

Mark looked over at him, mug still hovering in his hands, and smirked. His phrasing could really be impeccable at times.

 

"Coffee?" he offered, as the other sat in the chair next to his.

 

"I'd love ta, but I can't. It was a struggle enough jus' ta brush my teeth in there, what with all the chemicals I was spittin' up not too long ago. Everything tastes like shit at the moment."

 

Mark nodded absently, his gaze falling to the middle of the table. He couldn't imagine knowing what that was even like, but he could hazard a decent enough guess. At least he knew that Sean still had a sense of taste, which only added to the ever growing pile of questions that mounted in his head the more he thought about it. Why would a reanimated corpse need something like that? And what other senses did he still have?

 

"So..." he drawled out, placing the cup back on the table, unsure as to what to say next. He had so much to ask, but his line of thinking at the moment refused to let him find a beginning.

 

"Yeah..." Sean said, leaning on the table. He honestly didn't know where to start, either.

 

The both of them sat surrounded by silence, letting minutes pass without making a sound. Outside, the slow crawl of cars began their usual morning routines, as the skies faded from a velvety midnight to a stonewashed indigo. Mark knew his alarm would probably be going off soon, but he wasn't about to go get his phone before the caffeine hit his system. He was too worn by the nights events to move otherwise.

 

He glanced over at Sean, still trying to form a proper thought in his head. Despite sloughing off whatever he had tracked in from the graveyard, he still looked ashen and gray, from the flat tint to his skin, to the hazy dull stone veneer of his eyes. Even his hair, which had once been the shade of spring grass, sat lifeless and empty, now resembling something more like molded concrete than anything else. Mark couldn't figure any of that out, either. Why would he look like that now? What could of happened that sapped away all of his color? Did everyone go through that when they died?

 

His eyes fell to Sean's neck as he let his questions wander. The dark, blotchy ring around it was still there. Mark slowly moved his gaze back to the middle of the table, before he let himself remember too much.

 

"What's it like being dead?" he asked, suddenly but quietly.

 

Sean looked over at Mark and huffed. "It fuckin' sucks."

 

"Well...I figured." Mark said, semi defensively, catching the other in the eye, "But like...is it anything like what people say it's like? Were there any...long tunnels with light at the end? Did you see dead relatives, or angels or...?"

 

" _Pfft_. No. Nothin' like that. People just say that ta make the livin' feel better. It's more like...havin' yer body ripped in half, right down the middle. Only part of ya actually stays behind though, while the other gets tossed ta the side."

 

"Jeeze..."

 

"Yeah. Seein' yourself dead isn't exactly fun either. Ya keep thinkin' yer havin' the worst dream of yer life, only ya can't ever wake up from it."

 

Mark stilled and sat quiet for a minute, slowly absorbing what the other said. He knew death couldn't of been a fun thing to go through, but he had no idea it could actually be that _bad_. He remembered hearing the fun little stories his mother had told him when he was younger, much younger, after going to his first funeral. She never mentioned heaven, or any of the typical 'they've gone to a better place' type of things, but even then, when he was barely old enough to write his name properly, he thought he knew. He had always imagined a field of tall grass, with the sky a ruddy shade of sunset, with a massive, almost intimidating oak tree in the middle. And under the oak tree, would be anyone he had ever loved, smiling, waiting. It was a nice thought, but, apparently not everybody made it there, if at all, it seemed. Or maybe it never existed at all. Maybe the afterlife is nothing. And maybe Mark had believed in something he couldn't validate for too long. Maybe, just like imaginary friends, he should of let the idea perish a long time ago. He sighed, letting that small spot in the middle of his chest stiffen.

 

Sean had went through so much. He really had no other words for it.

 

"So...what did you do then?" he asked, turning his attention back to the now.

 

"Not much. Ya kinda don't have control over everythin' once that all happens..." Sean said, seeming almost nostalgic about it, "...Time sorta fades in n' out, and yer more or less left ta deal with it anyway ya can. Sorta like bein' on a dark rollercoaster. Only, every now n' again, ya see a beam of light for a bit, but theres no tellin' how much or what ya get ta see."

 

"If you had no control over anything, then...what woke you up? Like, what made you come back?" he asked, the question visibly crossing his face.

 

"Well... _you_ did." Sean answered flatly.

 

" _Me_?"

 

"Yeah. One minute I was driftin' from place ta place, then suddenly I was in a dark room, with you. An' ya were stuck in...somethin' horrible."

 

"Oh... _right_. I remember that..." Mark said, feeling the memory hit him like a ton of bricks. He had swore with every fiber of his being that that was all a dream, or some weird hallucination he had. But, then again, didn't he think the same thing about the current situation he was in? Didn't he just assure himself of that same fact, only to be dissuaded a few moments later? And the only thing that any of _that_ did was make him question reality more and more.

 

"Well, that's not all, though..." Sean said, eyebrows coming together, "I remember all that, an' I remember leavin', though not really wantin' to. More like I was bein'...sucked away. Or somethin' like it. I thought it was just part of the whole unpredictable 'ghost' thing...until I found myself back in my own body. Like...as if everything before it was jus'..." he trailed, shaking his head.

 

"But...I heard you. I heard you calling my name from above..." Sean said, face softening, "...You sounded so... _sad_."

 

"What?" Mark started, confusion worrying his face, "I...never did that. At least...I don't think so. I know I'd kind of talk to you sometimes, but...I mean..."

 

Sean held up a finger with one hand as his other rooted around one of the pockets of his jeans, leaning back as he did so. Within a beat, he had it out again, clutching something small, and wrapped in toilet paper. He placed it on the table between the both of them, taking a moment before pulling his hand back entirely.

 

"I think..." he stated, sounding a little unsure of himself, "...that it was _this_ thing."

 

Mark looked at the wad of white on the table, almost afraid of what was lying underneath it's messy folds. Something in there, had helped bring Sean back. Not only that, but that same something had the ability to mimic his voice too. How? What could possibly do that? A tiny recorder of some kind? Like a broken birthday card? Or a small doll? But who would of put it there? And why?

 

Whatever it was, it was no bigger than a pack of gum. How bad could it be, really? He took another long swig of his coffee, eyes still on the bunched up tissue, biting back some of his suspicion. He had hoped it wasn't an insect of some kind...

 

Mark slid the mess over in front of him, gingerly unfolding the hasty wrappings. It only took a few seconds before he saw what exactly it was. And it left his mouth hanging.

 

"I...tried to clean it off as best as I could while I was in there..." Sean said, eyes down on the object, "...but it still might be a bit dirty. While I was busy recoverin' from everythin', I thought I saw this thing flash once or twice before goin' out...kinda like a firefly."

 

Mark tilted his head up as he took the glasses from his face, setting them aside. He took a deep breath in and sighed, scrubbing his face with both hands as he exhaled.

 

"Thomas." he said flatly, settling his elbows back on the table, hands angled towards his head.

 

" _Who_?" Sean said, trying to catch the other in the eye.

 

" _Thomas_. He...this was _his_ thing..." Mark said, gesturing down in front.

 

"I'm...still not understandin'. Do you know him? Or...?"

 

"No! Well...sort of. Shit..." he said, grabbing his glasses again, putting them back on, "He...he was this guy I met in the cemetery Sunday. We talked, and I went back to his place, and..." he said, trailing.

 

Sean looked mildly hurt. "He's...your boyfriend?"

 

"No, no!" Mark said, hands waving around in the air, "He...ugh. He was this...random guy I met when I was visiting you. Came over to me and said I looked sad, said he could help. I...I don't know why, but, I agreed, and we went back to his place. We drank tea, and...and... _god_ , how do I even explain what happened..."

 

"So...a...random one night stand, then?" Sean said, face slightly puckered. He knew Mark wasn't the type to do such a thing, but even for the circumstances, it seemed a little weird that he would just follow a random guy home.

 

"No! We didn't have _sex_ , alright? Nothing even remotely _like_ it! I...like I said, we sat down, he told me about being a travelling counselor--"

 

"'Travelling counselor', huh? Sounds real _legit_ , Mark..." he said, sarcasm bubbling up. He knew he wasn't helping the situation any, but really, something that sounded as hokey as that should of been a red flag of some sort. He was surprised Mark even went along with it.

 

Mark's fingertips crawled under his lenses, pressing hard as he squinted into nothing. "Yeah. I know." he said, dully, with just a hint of an edge on his tone, "Just like how the former living dead decided to pay me a visit is totally legit, too. And...and _this_."

 

With a swift motion, Mark grabbed the object in front of him, holding it up in the din of the kitchen light. It's inky mirrored finish shone just as brightly as it did when last he saw it.

 

"This...this _thing_ , this stone. Remember when you said you saw me sitting in something horrible? I was holding _this_ when that all went down." he said, setting it down on the table with a click.

 

"'The hell is it, then?"

 

"I have no idea. I didn't know then, and I certainly don't know now. I...I just told myself that I made it all up, honestly. It was the only thing that made sense at the time."

 

The both of them sat in silence again, letting the air around them still with uncertainty. On one hand, Mark knew that the only way Sean could of gotten hold of the stone was if he dug around the tombstone he was just at hours ago. So, at the very least, him having it at least proved on some level that he really did burrow through the soil, and that he probably really did come from the same plot...or, at least, the same area. Not that he had any real doubts by this point, but, the thought alone helped him somewhat quell that nagging part of him that needed more solid evidence other than what he told him and what he felt inside. On the other hand...the fact that he was looking at this thing again made him feel a little uneasy. Especially if it was doing things like borrowing Mark's voice and...glowing.

 

Sean reached out, and spun the stone on the table, much like how Mark had done back at Thomas' place. "Y'know..." he started, eyes still on the dark rock, "I think if I concentrate hard enough...I can still kinda hear yer voice. It's fadin', but...yeah." he paused, "Now that the crap is outta my ears, I can still sorta hear you callin' out ta me."

 

Mark's face pinched together for a moment. "What? I don't hear anything..."

 

" 'S there. Won't be for long, though, I think."

 

Mark looked hard at the stone. He tried to really hone in on it, tried to block out any minor noises that were going on outside, and really listen. Still, he got nothing, other than the dull hum of the refrigerator, and the occasional drip from the shower stall. Was the sound meant just for him? Or did he just have unnaturally excellent hearing now? And if he did, why? Why would someone...or some _thing_ like him need to hear things so distant and quiet like that?

 

He shook his head and turned his attention back to his mug, slugging the last third of the now tepid brew down. More questions. More questions he didn't have an answer to. But, he knew just where to go to get them now.

 

"Alright..." Mark said, finally feeling his hands warm from the caffeine in his body, "...We're taking a little trip."

 

"To...see Thomas, I presume?"

 

"Exactly. If anyone can tell us what's going on, it'll be _that_ guy."

 

Mark stood to put his cup in the sink, but stopped before he actually went anywhere. He looked over at Sean, who still had his eyes pointed at the stone. With the way he looked, and the fact that he was supposed to be pushing up daisies at the moment, he didn't know how far they would be able to get in public before someone noticed something was more than a little off. They were going to need a disguise of some sort, for sure.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why two posts this time around? Well, I had initially written both of them out as one big, long chapter. But, I figured something like 7,000 words was going to be a bit much for people to digest in one sitting like that, so I chopped it in half. Do let me know if I should of kept it as-is, though.
> 
> Also, apologies on Sean's ever-changing written accent. I'm trying to keep it as consistent as I can, but, some things fly by my American 'ears' from time to time. If any of you out there are from Ireland, please don't hesitate to point things out to me.
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from a Stone Temple Pilots song of the same name, for the curious. :)


	6. Grey Dawn Breaking

"Mark...this is fuckin' _stupid_."

 

"I know it is, but...it's the only thing we have at the moment. Just...try not to mess with it too much, ok?"

 

Sean bit his tongue, and tried not to roll his eyes. If Mark thought that his weird coloring and his former dead status would of been suspicious, then he failed to see how an ushanka hat, sunglasses and a surgical mask from an old Halloween costume would of made it any better. He had tried to petition for just the hoodie and keeping a low profile, maybe folding the hood over an old baseball cap or something, but, Mark wanted to cover his face as much as he could...just to be on the safe side. Sean couldn't blame him, though. Given the circumstances, he was trying his best. And that was all he could really ask for, really. Even _if_ the old flap hat made his head itch more than he would of liked, he knew, deep down, he probably couldn't of dealt with all this any better. In a way, that made him feel a little happy, knowing that he had Mark there to help him piece his life back together again, and not the other way around. He probably would of accidentally gotten the other killed again by this point, somehow.

 

Mark pulled up just a city block down from where he remembered where Thomas lived. He put the car in park, glancing over at the dash as he did.

 

"Shit..." he muttered under his breath. Immediately, he dug his phone out of his pocket, scrolling though his contacts as quickly as he could.

 

"I gotta make a call into work." Mark said, tapping a few more things before hearing a ring on the other side, "Um...try to stay quiet, ok?"

 

Sean nodded, turning his attention elsewhere, aimlessly looking out the window. That was something he hadn't really thought about until now...Mark's other responsibilities. He had them, obviously, but it wasn't something that had dawned on him until now, that he still had things to do, still had bills to pay. Since he had died, everything had fallen to him, and the thought made Sean feel a pang of guilt. Before everything that happened, he was at least able to contribute what he could with what he was getting paid over at the Pearl Hotel in Chinatown, and even if he didn't have anything to give that week, he could at the very least clean or attempt to cook something on occasion. But now, that he was what he was, he couldn't very well do that anymore. He couldn't really go out into public and get supplies from the store, nor could he attempt to hold down an actual job and get paid. The thought made Sean a little troubled...was he expecting too much of Mark now? To help him take on his new status on life, but still maintain his responsibilities?

 

As the thought crossed his mind, Sean took note of a police car rolling down the street. He immediately shrank down in his chair, hopeful that he went unnoticed. He knew he must of looked beyond suspicious with the getup he had on.

 

"Thanks Wayne." Mark said into the phone, putting on his best verbal face, "Alright. Bye."

 

He tapped out of his contacts just as quickly as he had gotten into them, and set his phone back in his pocket. "Told them I was having car troubles today. Depending on what happens next, my car might have to get 'towed' tomorrow. Either way, we've got all day to figure this out now, so--"

 

Mark yawned wide. Apparently the coffee he had not too long ago was doing absolutely nothing now. The thought made Sean feel just a bit more useless. He couldn't even drive them home, should Mark need to take an impromptu nap. He didn't know how. For a moment, he wondered if coming back to Mark was causing more trouble than it was worth.

 

They both left the car, sunlight hitting their backs as they walked. The streets were mostly quiet and empty, seeing as how it was the perfect time of day where people were either at their respective jobs or it was too early for the night owl people to be awake. Businesses near where they walked weren't even open yet, which made the timing of it all that much more convenient.

 

They rounded the corner, and Mark took Sean's hand, pulling him closer, not necessarily out of affection, but more out of protection. They weren't situated in a bad neighborhood of any kind at the moment, but Mark still felt the need to try to shield Sean as much as he could, given the circumstances. What if they saw someone? What if someone saw _them_? What if something out here was actually harmful to the freshly undead? He really didn't want to take any chances.

 

Sean felt him tug forward, and inwardly smiled. Through his gloved hand, he could still feel the care and concern on the other side. Just like how he was when they first got together. Just like how he was when he was still alive. Despite not having a heartbeat, it still made him feel a little warm inside.

 

"Right, so...Chinese restaurant here...and...closed store there, so...."

 

Mark stopped, and stood stiff as a board. He held his breath for a moment, before exhaling in disbelief.

 

"You've _got_ to be kidding me..."

 

He walked forward, head darting back and forth between the two stores, almost as if he was trying to see something beyond the brick walls and wet cement that sectioned either one off from the other. His arms raised to his head, fingers threading through his hair, as he let out a bitter chuckle.

 

"It's not _here_...I can't...fucking...believe it..."

 

"Ehm...what's not here, Mark?" Sean asked, a little confused.

 

"The _house_! That stupid...little...blue piece of shit _house_! It's gone!"

 

Sean looked from side to side, looking for any clue or shred of evidence that a house even stood there. He didn't doubt Mark, not in the least, but the idea that a house of _any_ kind sat in the dark, smelly shadow of either building seemed _really_ odd. There were leaking dumpsters to the left, and something that looked like a clogged grate to the right, and wires of all kinds hanging precariously in between. The only thing he could see living here at any point were rats and other stray creaturess that were trying to find a place to squat for the night beneath the garbage bags and cardboard boxes. But...a house?

 

As he thought about it, his eye caught a blue envelope taped up to the brick wall, just a few steps in. Sean walked over and grabbed it, noting the stylized cursive on the front that simply read: "To Mark".

 

"I think this is yers..." Sean said, scrutinizing the outside of it, looking for anything that might say otherwise.

 

Mark turned around, face still crossed with disbelief, as it took him a second to register what the other had said. "What is?"

 

"This..." Sean said, waving it in the air, so the other could see before going back to inspect it, "...'S a letter of some sort. Maybe."

 

"A letter...?" Mark asked, walking over. Was someone expecting him?

 

He took the letter from Sean and ripped it open from the top, not bothering to look at anything other than what was inside. The envelope drifted down to the asphalt below, completely ignored. Mark unfolded the papers, taking in the too-neat script and formal-looking coneflower stationary before reading it.

 

" _Dear Mr. Mark,_..." he started, glancing over at Sean for a moment before continuing, "... _(Sorry, I don't think I caught your last name that night. I hope this is ok?)_...

 

   _If you're reading this, then that can only mean one of a few things. Either you had a question on your mind, or you simply enjoyed my company enough to have another chat. In the case of the former, well...as you can see, I'm no longer here. I trust it mustn't of been too important, though. Nothing really told me otherwise since you left, so, I'm guessing you got what you wanted out of our little session after all. Good for you! I'm glad! :-)_

 

_And, in the case of the latter, well...see point one. So sorry. Really. You seemed like such a nice fellow, too. Ah, well..._

 

_But! Not is all so bad, you see. I had to pack up because I felt like I was being called away again...oh, and so quickly, too! How nice!_

 

_So, as of this writing, I'll be headed somewhere colder...maybe even overseas. I'm not entirely sure yet. All I know is that I'll be needing a good jacket where I'm going. Hmn...I wonder what France is like this time of year?_

 

_Best wishes on your new life. And many blessings to you and yours._

 

_Take care._

 

_\--Thomas Winterbourne_

_(Funny that...my birthday is actually in August! Heh.)"_

 

Mark read the note over again before halfway crumpling it up in his hands, head tilting skyward as a groan of frustration ebbed from his throat. Thomas was gone. He quite literally packed up any and everything and left town, to points totally unknown. And the only thing he left behind was a brief note, not explaining a damn thing. And now that the one person he thought could solve this mystery was no longer an option, what could they do? Where could they turn to? Who could possibly help them now?

 

"Fuck...!" Mark grumbled, the edge on his voice a little bit sharper. He didn't know if he should of been a little bit sad or flat out angry at this point, as both feelings were rising up to the surface beyond his rational control. Currently though, anger was ahead by just a hair. He tried to stifle what he could by clenching his jaw lock-tight, biting back many choice words that danced on his tongue, threatening to make a scene.

 

Sean saw the other tense up, and cautiously put his arm around him. He watched Marks face ripple just beneath the surface with a complicated mix of emotions, each one more strained than the last. He knew that this trip was supposed to help him out, but, at the same time, he didn't really care. The whole thing was obviously stressing Mark out more than it should of. He was semi-alive. He could deal with just that fact. It seemed to be working out so far, anyway.

 

He took Mark into his arms fully, and hugged him, letting the other drop his head onto his shoulders, almost in a sigh of defeat. Sean ran his covered hands gently over the others' back, feeling the heat from everything the other was feeling rolling off his shoulders in waves.

 

"I-I'm sorry..." Mark said, muffled against the crook of Sean's neck, "I really thought...I thought that coming here would answer stuff for us. But...now...?"

 

" 'Salright, Mark...ya tried." Sean said, holding the other a little tighter, "Besides, it's not like we necessarily _need_ ta solve...uh, _me_ , right this moment. As long as I stay low, and--"

 

"Yeah, but...the stone!" Mark said, head popping back up, meeting Sean square in the sunglasses, "And...all the other weird crap that's been involved! What about--"

 

"Shh. We'll find out soon enough. Ya worry too much, Mark. It's weird, yeah, but honestly, it's kind of not that big of a deal."

 

"...Really?" Mark said, face slightly pinched, "Being a pseudo-zombie is 'not that big of a deal'?"

 

"Yeah, actually..." Sean said, grinning just a little behind his mask, "...Imagine how _awesome_ my costume 'll be at Halloween every year! I'll win _all_ the candies!"

 

Mark stifled a snort, and smiled. Leave it to him to find the lone highlight of being not-quite dead.

 

"And, anyway..." Sean said, lifting his glasses and pulling down the odd fabric in front of his mouth and nose, "...Even if we never find out anythin', I'll still be happy. I got a second chance at life, and, a second chance of bein' with you everyday. An', really, what else could I ask fer? So _what_ if I'm... _different_ this time around? So _what_ if we never solve anythin'? Does it really matter?"

 

Sean reached up and ran his thumb across Mark's cheek. He paused for a moment before putting a small soft kiss on the other.

 

"It'll be ok. Trust me."

 

Mark couldn't help but feel a small flush of warmth fill his face and fade into his heart. Sean was right...he was putting too much on the situation. With all the strange things that have been happening this past week, why would a house that suddenly disappears be any different then anything else? It was kind of jarring to realize, but, he knew now that he was going to have to start letting go of any semblance of logic if he was ever going to be at peace with himself these days. It felt stressful to think about...to know that anything could suddenly take a left turn into the bizarre, without rhyme or reason. But this was the world he was apart of now, whether he liked it or not. And, if he was going to try to rationalize or explain every little thing that came his way, he might possibly lose it altogether. And he couldn't do that, not now. Not when Sean was probably going through the same cycle of disbelief as he was, but probably worse, given the last 24 hours.

 

"You're right." he said, willing the rigid parts of his body to let go, "It _doesn't_ matter."

 

Sean looked back at him, and gave him a genuine smile, before sliding his costume back into place. He could see Mark relax and uncoil, something he knew the other was not very good at to begin with, and felt part of himself calm in the process. He'd be lying if he said he didn't constantly think and brood about all this too, especially how in the hell he was able to be here, right now, above the ground, ignoring the circle of life completely. But he knew that, as unexplainable as it all was, he couldn't allow either one of them to stress about it. It wouldn't fix anything, nor would it be helpful in any way, so what was the point in harping on the obvious? As long as he could be there for Mark, as long as he could be just as much of a rock for him now as he had been for Sean in the past, he knew that they could get through this. It was all he had to hold on to at the moment.

 

"We should get outta here..." Sean said, hearing the exhaust fan for the restaurant next door stutter into life, "...might look a little odd if someone sees two guys camped out in an alleyway like this."

 

"Yeah..." Mark said, darting his head towards the street. He lingered for a moment before turning the rest of his body away, arm sliding down Sean's to take his hand, fingers lacing together as they walked.

 

As they both climbed back into the car, Mark glanced down at the dash as he put the keys in the ignition. "Y'know...we still have most of the day left." he paused, "I think I'm gonna try one more thing before calling it quits. You ok with that?"

 

Even in the face of defeat, Sean knew Mark couldn't let go that easily."Yer not gonna try n' drive ta France er ta places unknown now, are ya?"

 

"No, no..." he said, turning the keys, waking the car into a soft purr, "...Nothing like that. I was just going to poke around the library for a bit. I don't have my laptop from work at home, so, I figured while I have the time, why not?"

 

Sean paused as another yawn fell from Mark's mouth. "Ya sure ya want to? I mean, right now? Ya can always take a nap first, then go out after."

 

"Eh, I won't be that long. Just an hour or two. Maybe I'll get something caffeinated along the way."

 

"Not 'maybe'. Ya _will_. Ya need it if yer not comin' home first."

 

"Tch. Ok, _mom_. I promise to jack myself up on Red Bull and Jolt cola, just for _you_. I'll even see a man about some _crystal meth_ while I'm at it. Oou, maybe he'll even have a shiny new _crack rock_ I could smoke, too!" As he said it, Mark's face broke into a sarcastic grin.

 

Sean shook his head a little and laughed. "Jus' shut up an' _drive_ , ya doof."

 

***

 

Sean heard the lock click on the front door, hours after Mark had left, and hours after Mark had said he would be home. He let out a sigh of relief, nearly dropping Mark's phone onto the couch he was sat on, feeling his fingers fumble for a second before regaining his hold on it. Even though Mark had left it for him in case of an emergency, he knew that he couldn't actually call anyone on it. Maybe 911, but that was dicey, in his opinion. What if they came to the apartment and saw him? How could he possibly explain...himself? And the handful of contacts Mark had all knew him, knew his voice, and even if he had tried to affect a different voice for himself, he was sure his ruse wouldn't last long before someone picked up on the subtleties that he couldn't hide, and that were distinctly his. Especially when it came to talking about the other. No amount of fake voice acting could hide the roll his motherland had put in the middle of Mark's name.

 

"Find anythin'?" he asked, gray eyebrows perked upward.

 

"Eh...not really..." Mark said, settling into the leather beside Sean, "I mean, I _did_ , but, not anything we can actually use."

 

"Seriously? All that time, and nothin'?"

 

"Yeah..." Mark drawled, leaning back into the sofa, head resting on top, "I actually kind of...fell asleep for a bit when I was there. And that was _after_ the caffeine deluge. I mean, I know I didn't get much sleep last night, but still...I didn't think my body would be able to ignore all the crap I drank."

 

"Ya had a long day, is all." Sean said, turning himself fully to face Mark, "A really _long_ day. I mean, I know I didn't exactly help any of that--"

 

Mark reached up and put his hand over Sean's shoulder, fingers rubbing the fabric of his shirt before letting the weight of his arm rest there. "It's not a big deal. I've dealt with worse." he said, mouth crooking upward.

 

Sean bowed his head forward, still feeling the bit of guilt he had floating around in his head, bumping into half the things he wanted to say. He lightly chewed on his bottom lip, and tried to comb through a few thoughts, when something abruptly caught his attention.

 

"Did you eat something while you were out?" he asked, head picking back up.

 

"Uh...yeah, actually..." Mark said, sitting up, looking over, "I had a turkey sandwich from that convenience store near the auto shop. Why?"

 

"Was that it? You sure ya didn't have anythin'...sweet? Maybe a...doughnut er somthin'?" Sean said, brows knitting together slightly.

 

"I had one of those huge energy drinks that tasted like liquid Smarties...other than that, no." Mark said, a slight look of confusion crossing his features.

 

"No, no...that's not it..."

 

" _What's_ not it?"

 

"I keep getting something sweet...like a doughnut. Though...not quite as sugary. And...theres something else to it too..." Sean leaned in closer to Mark and sniffed hard. He closed his eyes for a moment before snapping his head back up.

 

" _Cinnamon bun_. That's it. Ya smell like a cinnamon bun." he said, definitively.

 

Mark looked slightly amused. "Uh...I didn't eat a cinnamon bun. Or anything like it. Not today. Not even yesterday. So...I dunno how that's even possible."

 

Now it was Sean's turn to look confused. "Ya sure? Because it's definitely there. Maybe someone at work had one yesterday...?"

 

"I _shower_ , thankyouverymuch."

 

"I didn't _mean_..." he started, before stopping mid-sentence, "But...maybe _that's_ it? Ya usin' a new shampoo er somethin'?"

 

"That would be a 'no'. You should know, you were just in there this morning. Though admittedly, having something that smelled like cinnamon buns in the shower sounds kind of nice..."

 

"Well...maybe it's just _you_ , then."

 

" _Me_?"

 

"Yeah. Like...yer natural scent, er somethin'."

 

"That's a _hell_ of a natural scent to have, don't you think?" Mark said, nearly chuckling, "It's always been my experience that we all smell like _oily garbage_ when we're not clean and covering up with something nice. And before you ask, no, I don't have any cinnamon bun scented deodorant, either."

 

"Well..." Sean started, face pinched in mild annoyance, "...It's _there_. I dunno how else ta explain it."

 

Mark's smile faded slightly as a thought hit him. "Maybe it's more undead stuff you have going on. Like...maybe all humans smell like food, because...well, because maybe you want to _eat_ us..."

 

"I swear to _god_ Mark, don't you say--"

 

It was honestly too tempting _not_ to.

 

"...like a zombie."

 

Sean curled over in mock anger before reaching over and grabbing one of the throw pillows. He smacked it into Mark's arm a few times before letting out a facetious growl.

 

"I'm not a _zombie_ , goddamnit! I don't want yer stupid _brains_!"

 

Mark couldn't help but crack up. Sean was just too easy to rile up sometimes. At least, he had always remembered he was. But, as it turns out, he was just vulnerable this time around as well. And he was weirdly grateful for that. It had been a long time since he had a real reason to laugh.

 

"Well, speaking of..." he started, letting a few more snickers bounce off his shoulders, "...I actually got you something while I was out. I left it by the front door."

 

Sean had a puzzled look on his face as he slid off the sofa, standing. He looked over at Mark for a moment with a slight hint of suspicion in his eye, internally questioning as to whether or not he was just screwing with him again. He thought better of the situation and moved toward the front door, grabbing the little white plastic bag before sitting back down again. He gingerly undid the top knot, and peered inside.

 

"Well..." he said, sarcastic tone surfacing, "...a dozen roses, this is not."

 

"No, it isn't...but I thought these might be more useful. Especially considering how much you hated wearing that disguise earlier."

 

Sean fell silent for a moment, still staring into the bag. "Um...h-how do I...?"

 

"I...uh, I don't know, actually. It's kind of why I got so much. I...I kind of thought, y'know, since you had sisters growing up, that maybe--"

 

" _Pfft_. Mark...seriously? Ya think I paid any attention to how my sisters put on this shit?" he said, gesturing toward the bag.

 

"I...don't know?" Mark said, with a weird questioning tone in his voice, "Look...how hard can it be to figure out?"

 

Sean palmed his face with both hands, and leaned on his elbows that were perched on either knee. "I suppose..." he said, sounding less than confident. He knew Mark was right, but the idea of him spending any amount of time in the mirror preening like a bird made him feel a little devitalized.

 

"It's just skin colored makeup." Mark said, trying to sound sympathetic, "If you don't want to, you don't have to use any of it. I just thought--"

 

"No, no...I appreciate the thought. I really do." he said, sitting up, "And...it was really nice of you ta do. I mean, ta think of me n' all like that. Thanks." he said, small smirk perking the corners of his mouth. It felt strange to do, to thank someone for buying you half a drugstore aisle of cosmetics, but Sean had genuinely meant the gratitude behind it.

 

"Sure...uh, you're welcome, I suppose." Mark said, letting the words come out just as awkwardly as they felt being spoken. Suddenly, the odd looks the clerk gave him getting all of it didn't seem so bad now.

 

Wordlessly, Sean sat a bit closer to Mark, placing the bag in his lap as he reached for the remote. He clicked on the TV, and leaned back, waiting for the cable to adjust before he changed the channel.

 

"Ya still smell like a cinnamon bun though."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...I kind of said what I needed to at the end of the last chapter, so...
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from a Tiger Army song with the same name. Go give it a listen, if you'd like. :)


	7. Chelsea

Popping a few bills into the vending machine, Mark pressed a few numbers and waited for the machine to dispense his bottle of water. It stuttered, and made a few gargling noises, before a loud click was heard, instead of the usual soft thud of a bottle hitting the slot at the bottom. He gripped the cold black metal on either side, giving it a good shake despite the warning labels slapped all over it, but nothing happened outside of his change being dispensed.

 

With a sigh and a slight kick to the grate at the bottom, Mark took whatever was left of his money and headed over to the small table with the free office coffee. Pouring a cup of the thick, muddy liquid only reminded him of why nobody ever had to pay for it. He grabbed a fistful of sugars and creamers and settled in a table across from Jessica.

 

"If anyone gets your drink, I'll send 'em your way." she said, lifting a lone peanut butter cracker to her mouth, smirking.

 

"Nah. I'd be surprised if anyone gets _anything_ before they restock it again." He said, plunking in his first two creams, "You know how it likes to eat bottles when there's not much left in there."

 

"True..." she said, flipping through a magazine, head pointed downward, "...Still, though. _Nobody_ should have to drink from the La Brea tar pits over there."

 

Mark had a wry smile on his face as he opened 4 sugars at once, dumping them into the barely-lighter brew settled in front of him. "Well...it's either this, or take my chances with the tap water in the bathrooms. And as far as I know, we still have mud coming in through those."

 

"Honestly, calling it 'mud' is being polite, Mark." she said with a slight chuckle, "You and I both know what that _really_ is."

 

He nodded, with a snort. "All hail the mighty hand sanitizer and potpourri spray!" he said, raising his coffee.

 

"Here, here!" she said, raising another cracker to the air, clinking with the cardboard cup in the others hand.

 

Mark hesitated, lifting the near-black liquid to his nose. He supposed it was originally hazelnut flavored, but it had a distinct post-campfire smell to it instead. He took about a thimble's worth of it into his mouth before wincing, immediately getting up to grab more stuff to dilute it with. Jessica giggled, eyes never leaving the article she was currently thumbing through.

 

Bringing the coffee with him, he set it down on the little metal table and grabbed three more sugars, pouring them in without hesitation. As he reached for the creamers, he noticed someone had left two empty ones mixed in with the rest, their tiny gold cups completely out of place with all the opaque white ones. He dug them out and turned to toss them into the desk-sized trash bin when one of the labels caught his attention.

 

_'Fat Free Sugar Free Irish Creme'_

 

He stopped for a moment, as Sean's face flashed through his mind. He remembered once when he had so vehemently declared...in the middle of a supermarket, no less...that 'fat free sugar free Irish cream' was an absolute travesty, and whomever made it should get shot in the foot for such an insult to his people. The thought made Mark smile, completely forgetting about the still-wet cups in his hand.

 

Other things started to float in his mind as well, like a slow rain of nostalgia, from older memories back from when they first met, to the special little things he knew he'd always hold on to. Just this morning he had a conversation with him about the old doctor costume he was putting away, remembering the cheeky old woman who had tried to put the moves on Mark when he had to take the bus that Halloween just before he left work...

 

...even though he was supposed to be dead.

 

Right. _That_.

 

He tossed the used cups into the bin and let the notion roll around in his mind. He knew he couldn't be surprised by the fact at this point anymore, nor could he even begin to try to figure out exactly why any of it happened. Even when he was at the library yesterday, the things he found either involved overly elaborate rituals over long periods of time with things and materials he had never even heard of, or was almost completely linked to the  _Frankenstein's Monster_ lore, both of which, despite what he knew now, wasn't something that helped him any.

 

Mark gingerly opened 4 more creams and dumped them in, watching the near-black liquid finally change in color. He stirred it aimlessly with one of the thin pink plastic straws, scraping the bottom as best as he could, feeling the sugar still sitting down in a minor pile in the middle, refusing to dissolve. He took a sip of it anyway, completely expecting to be assaulted by something akin to a desert-flavored tire. Surprisingly, with everything he put in it, all he could pick up on was a completely flat, burnt nut taste. It would have to do.

 

He shuffled back to his seat across from Jessica, still letting thoughts of Sean ricochet around in his head. It was clear he couldn't help him, at least, not in any way that might be conducive to his current situation, and the idea made him feel kind of...useless. After all, that was his job, right? Solving or improving life's little problems though engineering. A job that he was supposedly good enough at to keep for the past few years. And, yet, he couldn't even apply his alleged skill to his own life. Why? Why couldn't he? What was he missing? And why did he fixate so much on it?

 

Despite being frustrated and blocked by the _why_ of everything, part of him already knew the answer. It wasn't just about being a logical person, nor was it because it was part of his profession. It wasn't even about that stirring 'aha' moment he'd get when things would click together. He cared about everything so much about it because--

 

Mark let the feeling hang as he dipped his head forward, ring fingers lightly tapping the rim of the cup.

 

He cared so much because...he still loved Sean.

 

Undead or not, he couldn't deny that. He couldn't forget how happy they were in their previous lives together, and so far, in this life, despite of all it's differences, it was starting to feel much the same. He could easily see the both of them falling back into the same routine as before, right before everything went down, just living and loving in their own little weird way. He could see them huddled on the couch together, rotting in front of the TV on weekends, watching whatever horrible B-movie was on channel 6 that week. He could see them going for late night drives in the summer, and watching the neighborhood freak out over the first snow of the winter, with whatever interesting things life could throw at them in between. Some things would be different for sure, he knew. They would have to be careful about where they went on the occasional date night and Mark wasn't entirely sure if Sean would ever be up to gorging himself on Gino's pizza anymore. But, he could deal with all that. It was all just window dressing anyway.

 

"Aww...what's got you so happy, Mark?" Jessica said, a small chirp in her voice. Her magazine was tossed carelessly to the side as she smiled back at him.

 

"Oh, um...n-nothing, really. Just...stuff." he said, sheepishly taking another sip of the "coffee".

 

"Just 'stuff', huh? Well, where can I get some of this magical 'stuff' then? I'd like some."

 

Mark smirked. "To be totally honest, I was actually thinking about Sean."

 

"Oh..." she said, smile slowly fading, "...I didn't know. I'm sorry."

 

"No, no...don't be." he said, meeting her eyes, "It's fine. All good things in here." he said, tapping the side of his head.

 

Jessica relaxed some. "I'm glad." she said, with a flourish of warmth.

 

As he looked across the table, a thought suddenly hit him. It had his mouth moving before his brain could fully think it through.

 

"Hey, actually..." Mark started, head tilted to the side, "...do you mind if I ask you something?"

 

"Sure. Shoot."

 

"In biology...can things come back to life? Like...could...lets say, a worm or something, die, and then be resurrected somehow?"

 

Her face fell slightly, concern peppering her features. "Certain creatures can, yes...but..." she paused, choosing her words carefully, "...certain conditions need to be met. Even then, most mammals...simply _can't_."

 

He looked at her flatly for a moment before nodding slightly. "Yeah. That's what I thought." He took another sip from his drink, expression unchanging.

 

"Mark..." she said, taking his hands into her own, "...You know, you can _talk_ to me if you need to."

 

He looked down at his hands and then back at her, a dart of surprise hitting him between the eyes. "I know. But...I'm fine, really." he said, with a smile.

 

"Are you sure?" Not planning on...doing something _weird_ now, are you?"

 

" _Pfft_. Like what?" he said, with a chuckle, "Punching the vending machine guy for not coming sooner? Nah, I'd rather skip all that, thanks."

 

Her eyes scanned his before sitting back up, a weary look still dancing across her brow. "If you say so."

 

 

***

 

 

Sean stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, sink filled to the brim with various shades of drugstore cosmetics.

 

He palmed at his hair a few times, pushing the strays back off of his face, as his mouth formed a straight line, jaw steeling itself against the idea of him...playing dress up. He really didn't like the idea of it, of him touching his own face, and fussing over little details here and there, very much akin to every 80's movie that had any type of girl in it ever. He was sure the stuff felt like slime and flour, just judging strictly from the outside of each container, and for some reason, that grossed him out more than pulling the wires out of his mouth when he rose from the ground.

 

He reached down and cracked open the first thing his hand landed on. It looked like skin colored lipstick.

 

"How the fuck..." he mumbled, as he twisted the tube up and down, watching as the product slid in and out of its casing.

 

Sean huffed and reached over to flick on the bathroom light. If it's lipstick shaped, it must go on the lips, right? Carefully, he leaned closer to the mirror, swiping a bit of it on his lips, rubbing them together to spread it around as much as he could.

 

He stood back and snickered. Now he looked like a corpse with a drag queen's smile.

 

He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped it off. Maybe if he read what each thing was, it might help.

 

It took him a little while, but on the left of the sink, he sat the "Foundation" products. To the right, sat the "Powder" ones, and pooled in the middle of the sink he left the "Concealer" and anything else he considered part of the "other" category. None of the little cardboard backers each thing had really explained much, if anything at all, so other than being a little more organized, he was still back at square one. He chewed the corner of his mouth, trying to think of how best to attack it all.

 

He worked at a fried chicken place once when he was still in high school. After patting down the pieces to go into the fryer, each one was rolled around in a spice mix, then egg batter, then spices again. His eyes fell on the "Powder" pile. This can't be too different from that, right? Well...maybe it _was_ , but, he really didn't have anything else to go on at this point.

 

Sean sifted through the stack and chose one that he thought looked most like how he did before he died. He popped open it's pearly blue lid, and studied the skin-colored cake sitting just below it's mirror. He dragged a finger across it's stylized surface, half expecting to recoil with disgust. Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad though...it did feel a bit like flour, but not nearly as heavy. It was more like a pleasant dust.

 

He took the brush that came with it, and started to apply it to his face, small swipes at first, then gradually building up to softer strokes. It took him a while to do and get used to, but when he was done, he stood back and took another look in the mirror. It didn't do much, but, it still added a bit of needed color to his face. It was a start, at least.

 

Next he eyed up the "Foundation" pile. He fished through the small bottles and found one that had roughly the same name as the powder he just used. Holding it up to the light, he grimaced. It really _did_ look like slime.

 

He unscrewed the black cap, and sloshed the liquid around in the bottle. With a careful swipe at the tip of the glass, he rubbed the stuff between his fingers. It was slightly gritty, but not really slime-like. Still not pleasant, though.

 

Sean dabbed a bit on his fingers and smeared it across his face, and it immediately reminded him of war paint. He took a bit more on his fingers and smoothed more of it around, covering as much of his face as he could.

 

When he stepped back, he was mildly impressed. Aside from his ears and the ring around his neck that he neglected to get to, it actually looked like he had a skin tone again. He took the same powder from before, and dusted around his face, just to finish it all off.

 

"Not bad, eh?" he said, looking at himself from different angles, grinning. It looked a little flat, but, he thought he could totally pass as human again. At least in passing. Who ever looked at a random stranger for more than a few seconds, anyway?

 

He closer in the mirror and took a better look at his eyes, making a small face. As close as he got with all of it, he couldn't get to every nook and cranny there, so they still looked a little... _off_. That was fine, though. He still had the sunglasses he could fall back on. He noticed his hair and eyebrows still looked off too, but not in the same way. That was something more out of vanity than it was anything else. Someone as young as him looked a little weird with the hair of a 60 year old man, but, it's not like it was an absolutely uncommon thing.

 

Sean applied the same steps to the skin he missed before, and decided once he was satisfied with the look, that it was time to test it out. Grabbing the glasses from the kitchen table, and his hoodie from the back of the couch, he unlocked the front door and headed outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this chapter comes from an Elvis Costello song of the same title. Go give it a listen. :)
> 
> Also, I probably won't be able to update this until after the new year. Sorry if this puts a damper on anyone's expectations, but, I'm going to be pulled in a bunch of different directions over the next few weeks, and I'll be lucky if I get a day in between to do much of anything. Happy holidays to those who celebrate, and may the lot of you stay safe until we meet again next time. :)


	8. Eyes Down

Sean stepped outside, letting the harvest afternoon sun hit his face as he plunked down on the chilled concrete stairs.

 

He was nervous, for sure. His original plan, when he was looking in the mirror just minutes before, was to actually take a walk around the block a few times, maybe make a small trip down to the corner store and other places where he could be seen without a lot of people eyeing him up, just in case he didn't actually look as good as he thought he did. Somewhere in between unlocking the front door and stepping outside though, he lost his nerve. What if someone recognized him? What if all the makeup suddenly started to run, or what if he forgot a small area? And _then_ what would happen? Would people be satisfied to simply gawk at him, or would someone try to make a scene? Would they call the police? Or the news? What if they followed him? And what would that mean for him or...for Mark?

 

He took a deep breath, his body not really registering the need for oxygen, and tried to settle. It was a very human like gesture, he knew, but one that still gave him a modicum of comfort.

 

He eyed up the neighborhood around, lifeless gray irises poking out from the tops of his sunglasses, head cocked slightly downward. He moved further back on the top step, leaning somewhere between the side railing and the brick holding the door hinges as he pulled the neck of his hoodie up more, trying to cover the skin there in another small fit of self-consciousness. He reasoned, that as long as he had his space, and as long as he acted normally, and as long as the mailman didn't decide to pay an off-hour visit, nobody would come within more than a few feet of him. So, even if he had a flaw, nobody would notice. Hypothetically, of course. 

 

In the distance, he heard the gritty roll from a set of stroller wheels. Sean slid the glasses back up on his face, and leaned back, hands in his pockets, as he waited for whomever was behind it to show up. As he waited, he tried to find a mock rhythm for his chest, inhaling for a count of two, and letting go for a count of three. He didn't know if someone would even notice something like that, but, better to be safe then sorry, he thought. It would probably be a skill he would have to perfect in the future, if he was ever going to linger in public for long periods of time.

 

Slowly, the scent of mint crept up into his nose. At first, he thought he was just catching a whiff of chewing gum stuck to the sidewalk somehow, but as he waited, and as he practiced more and more, the scent became stronger, almost as if someone was waving a new sprig of it in front of his face. Through the tinted lenses, his eyes darted around, trying to pin where something like that could possibly be coming from. Was it from the cars out front? Was it from someone's cleaning product? Was someone making...candy?

 

He was snapped out of his thoughts suddenly as he heard the gentle smack of plastic on pavement. Just to his right stood a stroller, packed to the brim with fluffy things and diaper essentials, tiny waving hand dancing in the air. Next to that was a man, somewhere in his mid thirties, with peppered brown hair and new leather shoes, crouched down, scooping up some ridiculous looking rattle toy.

 

"Nina, if you keep dropping it, I'm going to have to put it away, ok?" he said, putting on his best fatherly voice, facetiously scolding the infant with just a finger.

 

Sean sat stiffly as he watched the pair, keeping a mindful pace with his faux respiration, waiting, if at all, to be noticed. The father dusted off the toy, giving it a once over, checking for any signs of ick, before handing it back to the tiny, bubble-blowing baby. He looked up at Sean and gave a friendly grin, before continuing to walk on, never even taking a second look in his direction. The strong scent of fresh mint and sweet smoke followed the man like a cloud of incense.

 

"Christ..." Sean muttered, under his breath. He shook his head to clear the scent from his nose, as he silently wondered how that baby was still alive with the amount of aftershave the man was probably wearing. He could practically _taste_ it.

 

Weirdly though, he found that the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant. The smell itself, though strong, reminded him of the few minty things he had liked in his former life. Andes chocolates. Girl Scout cookies. Mint chip ice cream...

 

As he started to drift into desert-laiden memories, he heard the distinct but faint gurgle of an empty stomach calling to his attention. For a second though, he didn't know what to think...it had been such a long time since he even knew what being hungry felt like.

 

He stood and took another look around, before heading back inside. The rest of his experiment would have to continue another day. For now though, he secretly hoped that Mark didn't throw away what he had stashed in the freezer.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Mark pulled up to the apartment a few hours later, finger already hooking into the neck of his tie, pulling it slightly loose before he even left the car. The extra caffeine he ingested all day made his skin feel a little warmer than usual, and he was sure that now too-familiar burnt nut flavor had ruined his tastebuds for the day, maybe even the week. He made a mental note to buy a few bottles of water before work tomorrow as he skipped up the front door stairs, lest he lose the ability to enjoy anything other than liquid charcoal.

 

He casually fished out his keys as he walked to the front door to the apartment, shoes creaking above the freshly waxed hallway, the feeling of being home washing over him before he even made it past the threshold. As he slid the small silver key into its slot, Mark heard a strange groan echo through the door, sounding like something between a plea and a grunt.

 

He paused for a moment, trying to place the noise, brow coming together, hands still on the knob and key. All at once, he felt panic light up his body as he hastily jiggled open the door, his over stimulated brain finally registering the voice, hoping and praying to whatever deity out there that was listening that he wasn't coming home to something bad. Not again. He honestly didn't know if he could take it otherwise.

 

Mark swung the door open with a smack to the wall, not closing it behind him, and not caring that he probably just chipped the paint, as he nearly ran inside, head whipping back and forth in search of Sean. It didn't take more than a moment before he found him, hunched over the kitchen sink, muted heaves crawling out of his throat in between softer moans and other sickly din.

 

"Sean...?" he said, the rush of alarm fading, but concern still riding high, as he walked over to the other, stopping just behind him.

 

"Markimoo's home..." Sean weakly said, between spits, wiping his mouth.

 

"What happened? You alright?" Mark asked, carefully touching the still slouched figure in front of him.

 

" 'M fine. Just...makin' friends with the sink, is all."

 

"I can see that. But...why?"

 

"Got sick. Better here than on the floor, right?"

 

Mark exhaled, feeling the dread finally bleed from his body. He moved the hand he had placed on Sean's back in slow, gentle circles, the heat from his palm warming the room temperature skin beneath it. Sean was ok. Aside from making a mess all over the few dishes in the sink, he was ok. He was never more grateful than now for the slightly sour smell of vomit.

 

Sean turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run, as he scooped handfuls of it into his mouth, swishing and sputtering as he sloshed his hands around, trying to get most of what he made down the drain. He stayed like that for a moment, tap running, eyes half shut, letting the sounds of rushing water and the feeling of a warm hand on his back relax his muscles. With effort, he slapped the faucet off, palming his face before he stood, light grumble leaving his lips.

 

He turned to face Mark, leaning back on the counter, shoulders slouched.

 

"I got hungry." he said, sounding almost remorseful.

 

"Oh..." Mark said, a touch of surprise lingering on the word, "...So you..."

 

"I tried ta."

 

"And...it didn't go well, I take it?"

 

"No." Sean said, head hanging a bit, "It didn't."

 

Mark looked at Sean in the face, seeing his almost sorry expression, and felt his own face fall a little. He looked around at the afternoon's mess the other had made, in an effort to satiate himself; cookies scattered and bitten into on the table, an apple with half it's flesh gone, leftover Chinese takeout sprinkled about on the countertop, and a half melted pint of old cookie dough ice cream, dripping into the now mostly clean sink. He knew he didn't have much, and half of what he did have were remnants of another time, when Sean was actually alive and did most of the snack shopping himself. But when he had died, Mark did the bare minimum with everything, included eating. Not really by choice, but when nearly all that he had reminded him of Sean...it was hard to even consider even the smallest of pleasures.

 

He felt a little guilty. He didn't really know why, but the idea of Sean suffering through a food and nausea gauntlet without something more than his own scraps made that small place inside chest constrict with a sense of failure. Was he really that bad off before? The cookies were offerings, and never meant to be eaten by him, but he had forgotten that he even had that fried rice in there at all.

 

Mark sighed, letting the feeling roll off his shoulders as much as he could. That was neither here nor there now. All he could do for the moment was try to fix it. He lifted his head, and looked back at Sean.

 

"How are you feeling now?"

 

"Like shit."

 

"Right..." Mark said, eyes falling for a moment, "...But what I meant was...are you still hungry?"

 

"Yeah, actually..." Sean said, straightening out a bit, "...despite havin' ta run ta the sink every time I bit inta somethin', the feelin' is still there."

 

Mark nodded, letting the information sink in for a moment. "So...obviously, none of what we have here is working for you."

 

"I'd say not." Sean said, with a small bite of sarcasm.

 

"Well...do you know what _would_ work, then? Like..." Mark mentally stumbled, hand rolling in the air, trying to find the right words, "...are you having... _cravings_? Or...?"

 

Sean snorted. "I'm not _pregnant_ Mark. But...no, no cravin's or anythin'. Just...hungry."

 

Mark looked at the darkening sky outside, and then over at the built in clock on the microwave, before focusing back over to Sean. It wasn't that late yet, so there was still a good amount of time left in the remnants of the day before most places with food started to close, and even then, half of the drive through places were open 24 hours. Surely, somewhere out there, they'd find something that could gratify his needs...right?

 

"Are you up for heading out?" Mark asked, a little hopeful, "We could try hitting up the Holiday first, and then seeing where that takes us."

 

"Ya think that'll help?" Sean asked, a little unsure.

 

"It's worth a try. Worse comes to worst, we wasted an hour poking around in a supermarket for no reason. There's still a bunch of other places left."

 

Sean's face brightened a little, as much as someone who had no real color to him could, and nodded, small smile crooking the corners of his mouth. "Don't suppose ya kept any of my other clothes as well...?" he asked, gesturing to the front of his shirt.

 

"I kept everything." Mark said, as plain as day, "I...couldn't bring myself to throw _anything_ out, regardless of how beat up or raggedy it was."

 

Sean winced. "Even those slippers with the skunk spray still on them?"

 

"Even the slippers. Though, admittedly, I do have them in about 5 different trash bags, locked in one of those Tupperware bins in the basement."

 

"That's so gross!" Sean chuckled, "Why?"

 

"It was all I had left of you..." Mark said, grinning, but with a thread of sadness hanging on each word, "...and...I didn't want to let you go."

 

Sean's smile faded a little, as he felt a part of himself soften into the others words. Though he didn't have a pulse, he still felt the core in his chest warm over, and that almost glittering joy that he could only feel from Mark hug him from the inside. He was sure that if he could feel it, the sentiment would of touched his heart.

 

He opened his mouth to say something, when the deep rumble of his empty stomach decided to interject it's own dialogue instead. Sean's eyes widened for a second, as the chagrin on his face closed his mouth for him.

 

"Guess we should get goin' then." he said, a twinge of embarrassment peppering his words.

 

Mark nodded briefly, trying not to show his amusement. "Yeah. I'll get changed first, though. And...maybe you should touch up your...face."

 

Sean's hand darted to his cheek, rubbing the area near his mouth. He pulled his fingers away, and noted the skin colored smear left just on the tips.

 

" _Shit_. I forgot about that..." he said, mouth forming a stiff line.

 

"If it helps...whatever you had left of it looked good." Mark offered, trying to sound helpful, "Like uh,...your forehead?"

 

"Thanks." he said, letting out a small whine, "It might take me a minute before I'm ready, though. Ugh...gotta do _this_ again..."

 

He gave the other half a smile before heading toward the bathroom, fingers still pawing at the makeup left behind. Mark could only smirk, heading toward the front door to finally close it.

 

 

 

***

 

 

About forty five minutes later, they were pulling up to the Holiday, a cavernous and sprawling grocery store that felt like it was part of one of the many giant chains that littered the city. As the vehicle slowed under the glowing red neon that shone on the front of the car, Sean slumped a little in his seat.

 

"Ya sure my face looks ok?" he asked, peering out over the dashboard.

 

"You look _fine_." Mark said, putting the car in park, "Like I said...just keep your neck hidden and your glasses on. Feign a cough if you think people are staring at you. Nobody really bothers a sick person."

 

"Yeah, but...what if we see someone? Like a coworker er somethin'? What then?"

 

"What if?" Mark said, almost as if it didn't matter.

 

"Mark...did ya forget? I'm supposed ta be _dead_! Ya don't think people'll _remember_ that?"

 

"Remember? _You_?" he said, nonchalantly looking out the front window, "Nah. I wouldn't worry about it."

 

" _Seriously_?!" he asked, a little shocked.

 

" _Pfft_. Yeah! I mean, even if they do, I can always just introduce you as my new zombie beau. Y'know, since--"

 

Sean grit his teeth in mock anger, muted shout crawling from out of his throat. "You _asshole_! I'm not a goddamn _zombie_!"

 

Mark sagged against the drivers side seat, letting a few hearty laughs bounce off his chest, hands still perched on the steering wheel. Sean looked over at him with facetious daggers in his eyes, pulling the collar up on his jacket more. For a moment, he considered pretending to actually  _be_ one and give him a little scare, just so he'd finally drop the idea. It wouldn't be too hard, he reasoned...he was already an animated corpse, so all he'd have to do is roll his eyes up and start biting. And Mark, after all,  _still_ smelled like the worlds best cinnamon bun.

 

"No, but, seriously...it'll be fine. I mean..." Mark said, drifting, "It'll have to be. It's a bit of a risk, I know, but...you need... _things_ , and where else can we get them?"

 

"I just..." Sean started, "I'm more afraid for _you_ , is all."

 

"Well...I don't see any cops around, so I'm fairly sure we can haul ass pretty quickly, if need be." he said, tapping the wheel once, "And, other than some idiot taking a picture, which I'm sure the internet as a whole won't really care about some guy with weird skin and hair...I think we should be ok."

 

Mark shrugged. "If you don't want to, we don't have to go in. But...I'm willing to chance it if you are."

 

Sean chewed the corner of his mouth. He didn't know why he was feeling so tense about it so suddenly. His "costume" wasn't nearly as bad as when they tried to see Thomas the other day, for sure, but that somehow felt different than it did now. Maybe it was because they were in a much more public space than before, or maybe it was because he had less cover than he did now, less places to run to and less things to obscure his face. Something, though, still felt off. Almost as if he had his shoes on the wrong feet, or had all his buttons on his shirt misaligned.

 

He shook his head and sat up. This was stupid, cowering in a car over nothing. Especially if that nothing that had no discernable origin. He was probably just being paranoid, given the circumstances. If Mark trusted the situation, and was willing to hazard a civil appearance, shouldn't he? He fidgeted with the leather on his gloved fingers the more he thought about it.

 

"Alright." he said, grabbing the door handle, killing the feeling, "Let's go."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something about this chapter felt...I dunno...incomplete? I worked on it a bit longer than I usually do for one of these, but, somehow I feel like I'm missing something. I may have to come back to change something later. If I do, I'll be sure to put a note at the start of whatever chapter to let you all know. 
> 
> In regards to having some lackluster chapters...all of this will make sense soon, I promise. I know the past few haven't really had any "action" to them, but, it's coming. Seriously. Just stick with me for a little while longer.
> 
> Also, +1 for anyone who caught the reference. ;)
> 
> The name of his chapter comes from a Calabrese song of the same title. Go give it a listen.


	9. Hollow Inside

The inside of the Holiday was much, much larger than Sean had remembered.

 

Through it's hospital-esque double sliding doors, sprawled an expanse of linoleum and groceries, stocked to the brim with foods and home goods of any nature, sitting shiny and new as people walked by one another, elbow to elbow, carts lightly grazing one another. Long forgotten 90's hits played softly on the overhead in-store radio as the faint beeps of the checkout lines chorused over the polite din from the patrons and cashiers alike. And tucked way back into the domed white steel rafters of the building sat the near stadium lighting, bright and revealing, but not off-putting.

 

He and Mark stood off to the side of the entrance, letting whomever decided to pass them in, taking a sudden fake interest in the fall mums that crowded the wall just next to the hand baskets whenever someone looked at them. In between debating on whether or not half of the buds were red or just some form of bright brown, Sean could feel that same strange twinge of... _something_ creeping up on him, it's non existent fingers flicking him in the ear and poking him as if it were trying to make him aware of something. What, exactly, he couldn't place, though. His senses were gradually being pulled in too many directions for him to properly focus on any one thing, and it was driving him absolutely nuts.

 

"You ok?" Mark ventured, in a near whisper, noticing Sean screwing his eyes shut tight, hand inadvertently breaking off a few leaves from the pot he had his hand weirdly resting on.

 

"Kind of?" he said, face still pinched in a flinch.

 

"Bullshit." he said, still low but definitively, "Should we leave?"

 

"No...no. I just...gotta...adjust to things first."

 

" _Adjust_? To what...?"

 

Sean's face twisted a little more, "All the...the...the just--Ugh! Just...give me a moment...please."

 

Mark could only stand and watch as Sean made a series of semi-exaggerated faces, each only lasting for a few seconds before he tried to adjust himself back to a more "normal" expression, every one  more mannequin like than the last. To anyone else, it might seem like he was crazy, or having some sort of minor facial seizure, nothing really pained per se, but still a little odd to see. Something that, had he not decided to stand in such a way near him, might cause a few eyes to dart in their direction.

 

"Sorry..." Sean said, visage relaxing, "...when we came in...everythin' kind of just...overwhelmed me."

 

"It's ok." Mark said, "I don't think anyone noticed."

 

"God..." Sean awed, head dipping a little, face finally smoothing out, "I can smell this _entire_ store. Like...everything. All at once. It's...kind of horrible, actually."

 

Mark's eyebrows raised slightly. "Uh...really?"

 

"Yeah. Theres a diaper in the trash can by the exit, and a group of people over in asile 9 that haven't showered in a while, very barnyard-y...some kid in the cosmetics section is undoing all the nail polishes, and I swear the guy over in meats smells like he's soaked in brandy. The vegan yogurts are about to turn, and--"

 

"I believe you." Mark said, cutting him off.

 

"That's not it, though. I can _hear_ them all too." he said, lifting his head to meet the other's, grin slowly moving the corners of his mouth, "Like...right now? Someone is getting promoted in the security office."

 

"How can you tell that?" he asked, a little amazed.

 

"Because he just came."

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah. Well...you should of heard _her_ a minute ago..." he said, nearly laughing, "..I thought she was a _Labrador_ at first."

 

Mark bit his lip, forcing the warring thoughts of amusement and disgust to go away for the time being. He could find an argument over invasion of privacy, but honestly, it's not like Sean could help it. He didn't ask for any of what he was experiencing, and who knows if he was even able to turn any of it off. Though, it still left him wondering how and why he was able to do any of it.

 

Mark straightened himself out, and turned around, eyes shifting from aisle to aisle.

 

"All that aside...does anything here spark your interest?"

 

Sean nodded, mirroring Mark's movements. "Something, yeah."

 

"Where to, then?"

 

"I...dunno, actually. Everythin' is still kind of...muddy. It's here, though, whatever it is."

 

"Well..." Mark said, a little hopeful, "...how about we just walk around? We'll go slow, until you can figure out what's what. Then we can go from there. Sound good?"

 

"Yeah..." the other said, still feeling that weird notion helplessly knocking him in the head, pulling him partly out of the conversation, "...slow n' steady."

 

Mark looked over at Sean, his shaded eyes not revealing much beyond where he was looking, which was constantly changing, sometimes in slow slides, and others in jolts to either side of the room. If he thought that trying to trace his line of sight was going to help them any, then he was surely mistaken, since he wasn't even entirely sure that even _Sean_ knew where he was looking at times. Resigned to start from right to left, Mark took the gloved hand into his own, and leisurely walked to the produce section, basket in his left arm, Sean in the other.

 

"I think it's safe to say you don't eat apples..." he said, passing the overflowing crate of red and green fruit, piled high enough to start an avalanche, "...but, what about other stuff? Like...celery? Or...this kale?" he asked, picking up a thick bunch of dark raw leaves.

 

Sean took the vegetable, and turned it over in his free hand. "Mark, I don't think I'd eat this even if I _wasn't_ dead."

 

"Ok..." he said, putting it back in place, "...how about these?"  he asked, pointing, "Oranges? Peppers?"

 

"No, I don't think so..." he said, nose wrinkling slightly, "...It all kind of smells like cardboard."

 

"How can an _orange_ smell like cardboard?"

 

"I dunno. It just... _does_. This whole _section_ smells like a paper factory."

 

Mark snorted. "Well, there's always the big bins of potatoes over on the wall there. At least I know you liked _those_."

 

Sean looked at Mark flatly in the face. "You're an ass."

 

"So...no to those?" he asked, with a small smile.

 

"No." he stated, almost as if he was talking to a child, "An' I don't think I'll be interested in any _Lucky_ _Charms_ , either."

 

"Well...aside from the marshmallows, we _know_ that's cardboard."

 

" _Maaark_..."

 

"Right, right...sorry."

 

The pair walked over to the next aisle, facing down the pastas and sauces in the first half of the lane, sales and bulk deals down at the end. With each careful step they took, Sean shook his head at every item they passed, some he even flinched toward. The same had happened over the next few rows of goods, from vinegars and condiments to cereals, granola and tea. Nothing seemed like it was even edible to Sean, let alone something he might actually enjoy. Suddenly, the thought of having at least one or two of his favorite things to indulge in seemed like it was becoming just a memory, a past part of who he used to be. Even coffee, a near staple, had that same odor to it, that neutered scent of something beyond plain and a savor akin to licking wallpaper. He inwardly sighed at the thought.

 

Yet, the smell of something delicious still hung around the air, like an ever evading perfume, cloying, calling, pulling him in. Sometimes it reminded him of something simple, like fresh spice or ice cream, other times it came off as more of a whole meal, complete with trimmings and dessert. It was making his already aggravated stomach do somersaults, something he had tried to keep to a minimum since they came in. But it was a fight he was steadily losing though.

 

Just when he thought the next aisle had the answer, the same scenario would happen as it did with everything else, no to this, no to that, no to everything. Aside from Mark throwing a pack of waters into the basket, it remained empty all the way through to the frozen food lanes, where Sean was just about ready to give up.

 

"So, of the five basic food groups, we know that 3 of them are no good..." Mark drawled, looking at the icy doors on either side of them.

 

"I'd say four, actually." Sean said, sounding a little bitter, "Remember the ice cream? Pretty sure it'll _all_ wind up like that."

 

Mark nodded slightly. "So, no to four, then. And no to any form of drinks, either."

 

"Or any of the weird shit ya tried ta pawn off on me over in 10." he said, looking the other in the eye for a brief second.

 

"Hey, how was I to know shampoo, drain cleaner and rubbing alcohol wasn't something you'd enjoy?"

 

"Ehm, how about, because it was _shampoo, drain cleaner and rubbing alcohol_?"

 

"Yeah, but..." he said defensively, "...I just thought...since everything else seemed gross, and since y'know, you're... _different_ now..."

 

Sean stopped walking and faced Mark directly. "I honestly can't tell if you're trying ta help or if you're just messing with me sometimes."

 

"Can't it be both?" he asked, sly smile slowly bending his mouth.

 

Sean sighed. He knew Mark meant well. He always did. And he knew that when Mark started to joke around more and more, that usually meant he was entering territory he wasn't used to, and it was his natural defense at play. He couldn't blame him for that. This whole thing was a weird experience for them both, and if the roles were reversed, Sean was sure he'd of thrown out his fair share of puns and stupid quips too. Probably moreso.

 

He couldn't tell if he was feeling a little irritated because of that, or if it was because of the ever growing knot in his gut, or if it was from the flood of noises and scents assaulting him from every direction. Then there was that still present feeling he had, nagging him somewhere in the back of his mind over...something. Something that refused to let him ignore it, unlike the other things currently swirling around throughout his being.

 

He wrapped his gloved hand further around Mark's and held it just a little tighter. The warmth that bled through from his palm helped pull him back some. If he tried, Sean was sure he could hear Mark's heart beat just a little bit differently at the gesture.

 

"Well...the deli & meats section's in the back, if you want to try looking around in there." Mark said, voice softening.

 

"Couldn't hurt ta try." Sean said, with a lingering sense of resignation.

 

Within minutes, the two of them were standing amidst piles of neatly pre-packaged animal corpses, each dissected, categorized by species and cut, and coated in plastic to preserve freshness. In the bins next to the front counter, stood pickling barrels full of lemon juice and barbecue rub, each one holding up it's own homemade neon sign advertising what the spices were good for, nearly blocking out the huge glass case behind it with every form of iced ocean dweller one could hope for. The man behind the counter, a tall, thick, ginger, took the little pink tickets the people in front held when their number was called, and handed each order down from the counter with relaxed, steady motions.

 

Sean felt like he was nearly vibrating. Something was here. All his senses were lining up, and told him in a resounding voice, that yes, this is where he needed to be. Whatever he needed was going to be within arm's reach in a matter of moments. And, strangely, he felt a little giddy over the idea.

 

"So...anything?" Mark asked, watching the other close his eyes, and take in a large, sharp breath through his nose.

 

"Definitely."

 

"R-really?"

 

"Mmhmn." he said, finally opening his eyes, "It's here, alright."

 

"That's...great!" Mark nearly sputtered out, "Do you know what you need, yet?"

 

"No...I'm workin' on it, though. There's a lot ta sort out."

 

With care, Sean walked to the end of the massive meat displays where the chicken and turkey cuts sat, and looked over each piece, turning over the little Styrofoam parcels. He halfway expected something to just...jump out and tell him that this was it, that this is what he was looking for this whole time, but no such thing happened. The smell they gave off was still mildly appetizing though, something he could only think of equating to wet flour. It wasn't gourmet by any means, but it was still the smell of food, which he was weirdly grateful for.

 

He moved on to the pork section, with only a slight improvement of interest over the poultry. Most cuts gave off a similar smell, but a bit salty, almost like a pair of saltines that have been in soup for too long. The beef, just adjacent to the pig parts, held the most promise though. Sean held up a pound of ground beef that his hand landed on, and brought it up to his face, taking in a quick sniff before setting back into place. The scent of hearty, slightly burnt toast was quick to register just above his growing smirk.

 

There was something else though. Something that he could definitely pick up on, but wasn't within his reach. It was the best of all the smells within the section, giving off a slightly sweet, fresh baked French loaf aroma, the kind of bread that one might associate with an upscale bakery or a refined restaurant. It wasn't as strong as some of the other things he had and was currently picking up on, but, it was one that seemed stationary enough that he might actually have it.

 

Taking care not to get too close, he pulled his hoodie up around his neck and head a little more and idly tried to follow where it was coming from. It took him just a few feet over to the butcher's counter, and from what he could tell, was somewhere just behind the deli slicers and reams of brown and white paper. He pretended to be interested in the box of Cajun spice right in front of him so as not to look too out of place, holding it up to his face as if to read it while his eyes scanned what he could see of the back room.

 

It took a few minutes to do, considering how busy the counter seemed to be at the moment, but his eyes eventually landed on a tray that wasn't out for display yet, covered in plastic wrap. The little green pick that stood out from it read, "Offal, $2.99/lb."

 

"That's it...!" he excitedly whispered, mostly to himself.

 

"What's it?" Mark asked, in much the same tone.

 

Sean tossed the little yellow box of spices back into the barrel, and faced Mark, who held a reserved look of hope in his eye. "I need ya ta order me a pound of offal."

 

"Of... _what_?"

 

" _Offal_. It's behind the counter."

 

Mark held his gaze for a moment, trying in vain to place the word. "I heard you, but...what is it?"

 

"A type of assorted meat." he said, being purposefully vague. If Mark had thought he was a zombie before, then he could only imagine what he'd say if he explained what  _that_ was fully. "Back home, it was a bit of a specialty dish. Usually served wherever they had English-type food."

 

Mark nodded, brows still angled a bit in confusion. "So...just a pound, then?"

 

"Please."

 

Mark took one of the little pink tickets and stood behind the small throng of people near the glass case, slowly inching his way forward as a steady progression of numbers were called out. Sean decided to make himself as invisible as he could while he waited, and stood near one of the endcaps that had bags of dog food on sale, and held on to one of the little 2 lb bags, feigning interest. Nobody seemed to notice him or pay him any mind, not even the customers who were there for the discounted kibble, a fact that simultaneously made him feel a little at ease and a just a bit like a weird store display. As strange as that was, it was better than being a beacon of attention, he reasoned.

 

After he stared down the little golden retriever on the blue bag he held for the umpteenth time, Sean poked his head up, and took note of where Mark was standing. He seemed only about 3 or 4 people behind now, probably only a small wait from there.

 

But despite trying to put on a "normal" show, he let his eyes start to drift away from where he thought they should be. Slowly, they coasted past the prepackaged meats, sailed on beyond the international and gourmet cheeses, and nearly ignored the small bakery department. A random woman with bright pink hair caught his attention for just a moment before settling on a pair of double wide silver doors, leading to, what he could only guess, was another back room of some kind. He had no idea why he was so suddenly fascinated by the sight of them...

 

As the doors swung wide open, a large cart of lemons was being wheeled out, precariously balanced on four squeaky wheels. Behind them though, was a slightly older man, with wavy golden hair that barely brushed by his shoulders, and a solid squared jaw that was dusted in a dark brown 5 o'clock shadow. His arms, despite being halfway covered up by the employee red polo, were toned and strong, and his gait held the confidence of a retired soldier.

 

That nagging sensation he had the second he walked in now kicked into overdrive. Sean almost flinched at how hard it was smacking him in the head now, the staggering amount of focus his body seemed to have on this one person feeling almost automated, as if somewhere inside himself, someone or something else were taking the reigns. His muscles began to tighten, and the small fuzz just below his hairline stiffened, and before he really knew what he was doing, his weighted feet began to take a few steps forward.

 

"Man...you were right about that guy earlier..." Mark said, patting Sean on the shoulder, nearly making the other jump out of his skin, "...he seemed totally normal until he opened his mouth. It was like sniffing a bar urinal."

 

Sean instantly snapped around, dropping the bag of dog food he was still holing, eyes a little unfocused. He weirdly felt as if someone had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to, and the slightly skewered look on his face didn't get past Mark for a second.

 

"Hey, you ok?" he asked, recoiling his hand, "I...didn't scare you, did I?"

 

Sean quickly shook his head, partially to try to gain control of himself once again, and partially to answer Mark. He took another moment to pick up the crumpled blue bag on the floor and put it back on the shelf before he thought it was ok to talk again.

 

"No..." he reiterated, "...'m fine. I just...had a moment, is all."

 

Mark took a second to look him over, trying as best as he could to get a read on what he actually meant. Other than the initial awkwardness that just happened, everything else seemed ok. At least, as far as he was concerned. He was still acting a little off, but, nothing that really seemed different than what the usual was these days.

 

"Well..." he said, deciding to ask questions later, "...I got what you wanted. He double bagged it for me, but...I'm still afraid it's going to make the car smell like old pennies. So, the sooner we leave, the better."

 

"Right..." Sean said, finally collecting himself, "...ready when you are."

 

 

***

 

 

"So...now what?"

 

"You're asking _me_?"

 

"Well...the butcher didn't say anything when you bought it?"

 

"No. Should he?"

 

"I guess not..."

 

"Should I...google what to do with it?"

 

"No, no...I mean, it's just meat, right? Theres only so many ways you could eat this stuff."

 

"Yeah, about that..."

 

"Mark, I already know what you're gonna say. Just please...don't."

 

"I mean...it's not _exactly_ meat, is it?"

 

"Mark..."

 

"Do humans really eat this?"

 

" _Mark_..."

 

"Are we _sure_ you're not a z--"

 

" _ **I'm not a goddamn zombie, Mark!**_ "

 

Sean folded his arms over his head, as it came down on the kitchen table, taking a moment to remember that smacking someone who was trying to help you wasn't proper etiquette, regardless of how much the other person was asking for it. The small cadence of chuckles that followed only helped to reinforce the fact, even as he silently debated crawling back into the hole he originally found himself in just a few nights ago.

 

As he slowly brought his face back up to the surface, he lightly palmed his face before looking over at the plastic bag again. The quicker he got some food in him, the quicker he could start to feel less irritated and bothered by everything, he reasoned. And, even though that same soft bread smell wafted from the confines of the package, he still had no idea how to actually _eat_ any of it. Nothing within him was giving him any clues, other than what was in front of him had something about it that was possibly edible.

 

He ran a hand through his hair before he slid the bag over, carefully undoing the little colored twist tie and top knot. He peered in, noticing the various parts he was given, and the tiny puddle of watered down pink pooling at the bottom.

 

"Maybe...fry it?" Mark suggested, not really knowing what to do with it either, "Or boil it? The English are fond of boiling things, right?"

 

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe? Can't say I've had too much English food before though. I just know what I've seen on menus"

 

Mark stood from where he was sitting, and wordlessly grabbed a sauce pot and a frying pan from the drain board. "We can always try both. I mean, theres enough in there for some experimentation."

 

He held both pieces of kitchenware in front of the other, and lightly wiggled them. "I'll cook. Just put a piece of...whatever...in each. You'll still have some leftover if I mess it up somehow."

 

Sean mutely looked up at Mark, and then back down at the bag in front of him. He reached in, face scrunching up at the slimy wet feel, and took the first two pieces out that his hand landed on. A small piece of intestine landed in the pan, and a chicken gizzard fell into the pot. Sean took the sauce pot from Mark and went over to the sink, throwing just enough water to cover it and throw it on the stove before going back and scrubbing his fingers liberally with dish soap.

 

As he turned the fire on for the pot, Mark stared at the small coil of intestine currently sitting in the same pan he used to cook eggs in, and jiggled it. He wondered briefly if adding a dab of oil would somehow ruin it, or if he should try to leave it as untouched as he could. It was a nonstick pan, but since he was completely unfamiliar with the art of cooking organ meats, he could only guess as to what kind of 'rules' there were. Mentally shrugging, he flicked the little knob on, and decided to just keep a close eye on it. Worse comes to worst, they always had plenty of salt and pepper.

 

It only took a few minutes before a light sizzle began to hiss out from the front burner, the odor of rapidly charring mineral meat perfuming the air. A quick poke with a plastic fork, and Mark had the shrinking piece on the other side, the semi-wet slap an odd contrast to the already crispy bottom.

 

"Stop..." Sean said, a restrained look of puzzlement evident on his face, "...turn the pan off."

 

"You sure?" Mark asked, turning the knob before he got an answer.

 

The other nodded, heels from his hands digging in his sockets as he leaned on the countertop. "It's ruined now."

 

"As in...it's not food anymore?" he asked, hazarding a guess.

 

Sean nodded again. "The smell's gone."

 

"Well...what about the pot?"

 

Sean lowered his hands and looked over to the still-lit pot, a faint bubble or two just forming at the bottom. He reached in, not minding the temperature of the water, and pulled the gizzard out, holding it up to his face, noting the slight change in surface color.

 

"It's gone, too." he said, plunking the small organ on the counter.

 

"But...it's not even fully cooked...I think?" Mark stated, turning the other fire off.

 

"Doesn't matter. It cooked enough to take the smell away."

 

"So..."

 

"So?"

 

"So...can you not eat it cooked, then?"

 

The question hit Sean in a way he didn't expect. Of course he should cook it. It was meat. And meats usually were cooked not only for safety reasons, but because it made them taste better. But, somehow, not this time. Cooking the offal took the faint bread smell away from it, and rendered the piece, at least in for him, useless. But why? Why would just making something warmer destroy it's edibility, as opposed to making it better? Were they just...doing it wrong?

 

They couldn't be doing it wrong. There were only so many ways you can cook food, and if boiling it and frying it didn't work, he didn't see how baking or microwaving it could make it any better. He could try holding it over one of the burners like a fake barbecue, but, really, was that any different than the pan? And cutting it up and putting it in something else seemed just as useless, considering this was the only thing that didn't smell like an old magazine. He could try blending it, but...what then?

 

Sean lifted his head, looking over at the bag on the table. He really didn't like the way his reasoning was going, but, at this point, he was getting hungry enough to try.

 

He sat at the table, and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle himself. He peered back into the bag, and grabbed a small piece from the bottom, something that looked like a piece of calf's liver. And with one fluid motion, he flipped it into his mouth, raw.

 

Mark took a step forward, as if to say something, but stopped just as soon as the thought occurred to him. What could possibly be said at this point? He knew the rules stopped applying to him the minute he showed up at his door that first night, covered in soil, lacking a pulse. But he still felt like he always had toward him, just like he had in their previous lives together, and couldn't help but wonder if something like that had the potential to do more damage than good. The meat came from the supermarket, sure, but...where was it before that?

 

Before he had time to dwell on the question, Sean turned to him, with a wrinkled look on his face.

 

"That smelled so much better than it tasted."

 

"What did it taste like?"

 

"The worlds oldest, moldiest crouton."

 

"Well...at least it had a flavor to it this time, right?"

 

"It did, but...combined with that texture, I'm not sure I'd want seconds."

 

"Maybe you'll get used to it?"

 

"I _really_ would not like ta have ta get used ta something like that. Even if--oh god..."

 

Sean sat stiffly for a second before immediately getting up to bolt toward the sink, letting the chewed pieces of meat spill out with force into the basin below. His body retched, dry heaves sandwiching the sounds of spit and sickly din, as he slowly sagged against the metal tub, head falling after each throe.

 

Mark walked over, and placed a hand on his back, rubbing in small circles. He knew what this meant. He knew that they were right back where they started. And he knew that after he had snubbed nearly everything at the store, that their options...if they had any at this point, were running out.

 

"Fuckin'.... _damnit_." Sean muttered, pawing the sink on.

 

Mark sighed. Where do they go from here?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter comes form a Buzzcocks song of the same title. Go give it a listen. :D
> 
> ...
> 
> ...oh? Still here? 
> 
> ...
> 
> 5,000-ish words wasn't enough, you say?
> 
> ...
> 
> Well then...how about another? :)


	10. Damned to the Night

_"It'll be fine, trust me." he said, standing in front of Sean, half smile on his face._

 

_"How can ya be so sure?" he asked, a twist of worry and pessimism hanging in his words, "You saw what happened last night. An' I highly doubt somewhere like Taco Bell is gonna have what I need..." he nearly sighed, "...I'm screwed, Mark."_

 

_"You're not screwed, Sean. We just haven't found your thing yet. That's all."_

 

_"But that's just it...how, exactly, do we find it? And what if we don't?" he said, glancing to the side, "God, if I only had some sort of fuckin' idea..."_

 

_"We'll find something. Don't worry. It might not be today, or this week even, but..." he trailed, nodding._

 

_"I just...I don't like this. I don't like being something ya have to worry about all the time. I don't like feeling...helpless. Or dependent. It's not fair ta you..." he said, head sliding down, "...You've already done enough."_

 

_Mark paused, dipping his head for a moment as well. He then took a step forward, and circled his arms around Sean, cradling the back of his head against his shoulder._

 

_"It'll be fine, Jackaboy. Trust me."_

 

 

 

Sean replayed the little exchange they had this morning, and felt his shoulders sink down a little. For all that Mark has been through these past couple of days, he's still been able to keep a calm, level head, something that he himself was slowly starting to lose. And over what, exactly? Over food. Over something that shouldn't even mean this much to him, considering his current status on life. But it did. It strangely did. He had felt hunger before, especially when he was in college and the only thing that would sustain him for weeks sometimes was the good charity of others and bricks of super cheap ramen. But this...this was something different. This was quickly snowballing into something more intense, more urgent and more painful the longer he went without something, and no amount of sugar packets and ibuprofen was going to fix it this time.

 

He pulled his belt over to the next notch, hoping in vain that the slight jabbing sensation would help keep him distracted enough from the churning stabs that echoed throughout his belly, ones that sometimes he could feel dart down to his legs and up through his chest. But he knew it wouldn't work. It hadn't worked the last two notches he pulled, and this one was barely staying put. For a moment, he wondered if he could break the thin belt, just by breathing in.

 

Straightening himself out, Sean looked himself over in the mirror one last time, checking for any makeup flaws and brushing the hair out of his face with his fingers. He still couldn't get the eye area to look any better than he did the first time he had tried it, but at least he was able to get the rest of his skin to a close enough finish. Slipping the sunglasses on, and pulling the hood up, he tucked his naked hands in his pockets and headed outside, where he hoped to escape from his problems at least, for a little while.

 

Two feet on to the concrete stairs, and Sean stopped on the spot. Just a short distance away, he could hear furious scratching, and something like beads spilling out on to the pavement. He looked over to where the sound was coming from, and saw the lone wooden birdfeeder swinging wildly from the small trees' branches.

 

"Aww, Pumpkin..." Sean said, a hint of recognition and cheer on his words, "...again?"

 

He hopped down the steps and guardedly approached, keeping his movements slow once he got close enough. When he looked fully at the container of seed, he could see the fat, gray squirrel was frantically pawing away at the plastic walls, it's high pitched squeaks muted by cheeks stuffed with ill-gotten goods. Every so often, the feeder would rock back and forth, dashing the sidewalk once again with a smattering of food, as it continuously curled upward and tried to paw at the red painted roof.

 

Sean looked around for a moment, checking for anyone who might be passing by, before taking his hands out of his pocket and reaching out for the top of the container. He wiggled it a bit, before attempting to pull it upward, but no sooner than he had, did he notice two new knots holding the roof on in place.

 

"How the hell did you even _get_ in there, then?" he rhetorically asked, looking for any cracks or holes on the sides that might answer the question otherwise.

 

It was then he noticed something odd sticking out from just under the roof. Pinched between the plastic and wood was a tiny foot, limply hanging over the side, little patches of ruddy brown marking where the two materials met.

 

He frowned for a moment, heart taking pity, before he reached out and unhooked the feeder altogether. Somehow, he knew, he had to get the little furbag freed. And without hesitation, he cautiously lifted the whole thing into his arms, and headed back up the steps.

 

Once inside the safety of the apartment, he set the container down on the kitchen table, and sat directly in front of it, studying it, in the halo of lights from both outside and from above. He knew it wasn't a particularly smart idea, bringing in a wild animal from outside, but, he couldn't just let the poor thing hang in pain, regardless of whether or not it was diseased or feral. Besides, given the fact that he was currently of the former living anyway, what difference did it really make? It was better this way, he reasoned. He didn't have to worry about any of that, or worry if someone saw his bare skin, and if he needed anything above his own two hands, all he had to do was go get it instead of bouncing back and forth between outside and in.

 

He tried lifting the lid once again, seeing if the wood would slide over the knots if he just tried hard enough, but, it didn't move any more than it had last time. How the neighbors were able to tie two of them in a piece of rope that seemed like one continuous loop, he'll never know. But undoing them seemed nearly impossible without cutting.

 

Grabbing the lone pair from the cabinet, Sean took the scissors to the first knot, and tried working them back and forth just below, attempting to sever it at it's base. They made small nicks here and there, but were nowhere close to even cutting through the material. He turned around, and grabbed the next sharpest thing he could think of...the kitchen knife.

 

He looked at it for a second, touching the back of the blade and remembering the last time he had seen it, and felt that night come back to him in a brief flash. Even if he could do it all over, it probably would of ended up the same way. Nobody could ever anticipate seeing a pseudo corpse at their front door at 3 am, and Mark was certainly no exception.

 

With effort, it cut through, fraying the white ends with each pass he took. He decided to keep it to just the one side, since the lid seemed loose enough without having to do the other, and the less damage he did to someone elses property, the better. Slowly, almost painfully so, he lifted a corner of the lid, and peered inside.

 

There the squirrel sat, wide eyed, and out of breath, not moving at all amongst the small mountains of millet and corn. With as much care as he could, Sean lifted the corner of the roof that had the chubby rodent's leg pinned, and waited.

 

But nothing happened. The squirrel sat, mute, and chest heaving.

 

Seeing an inkpen just out of the corner of his eye, Sean reached for it, and delicately nudged the little limb, ginger little pokes that made a delicate tapping sound against it's bottom paw. Still nothing. Was it broken? Or dislocated? Or was the tiny thing too scared to move?

 

He brought his face closer to the plastic side, and tried to read it's rounded expression. Two bitty black eyes stared right back, like a pair of doll-sized marbles. Other than it huffing about as if it had just run a marathon, everything seemed like normal, at least, as far as he could tell. This was honestly the first time he had spent more than a minute in the presence of one, so he could only really guess.

 

Sean picked up the pen again, and hooked it's dainty heel on the cap of it, lifting it with a steady hand and with the attention of a surgeon, slowly bent it back into the feeder. As his fingers retreated however, he dropped the ball point right next to it's head, sinking a fraction of the way into the food when it hit. With a curse, he reached for the blue stick but retreated, taking another look at his unplanned houseguest.

 

The squirrel still didn't move, despite being reunited with it's seemingly functional leg again. It sat, just as it had the whole time, unnaturally still and swallowing air. Was it...dying? Or was it still in some sort of shock? Either way, it would be free again in mere moments, he thought, free to do whatever it is squirrels do when they're not getting trapped in things such as this. Sliding his hand in, he grabbed the end of the pen...

 

...and was immediately met with a very sharp pair of teeth, clamping down on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

 

_**"Fuck!"** _

 

He whipped his hand out as fast as he could, trying to retreat from the now moving squirrel, only the tiny rodent had it's jaws locked into place, like a micro vice grip. Sean flicked his arm about in a panic, desperately trying to get the wriggling thing off, as it squeaked in shrill barks, a tone almost akin to a cartoonish warcry, seemingly determined to take down it's misaligned enemy.

 

Sean scrambled for the pen, trying to find something to leverage the damn thing off, but it went flying within the first few moments, never to be found. He grabbed the knife for a second, thinking of the same thing, before dropping it back on the table in a clatter. He wanted it off, he didn't want to accidentally kill it. And given the frantic moment of the situation, he wasn't sure he would be any good with it anyway. Diving for the kitchen utensil drawer, he flicked his arm out once again, with as much force as he could muster, feeling a wave of relief as the nasty stab from his hand left immediately.

 

He turned, abandoning any previous logic he had, and cradled his hand. He had a hole, about the size of the end of a chopstick, poking through either side of his gray pallor. There was no blood, nor any type of gore, just an opening that he could just about see the kitchen floor through. He touched it with his other hand, a little fascinated, and winced on contact. It hurt, for sure, but the lack of anything else gave it a sense of displacement that he couldn't easily define.

 

He didn't dwell on it for long, as he soon remembered the wild squirrel still scurrying about in the apartment. Poking his head up, his eyes darted about the room, hoping to find wherever it went, and silently praying that he wouldn't have to resort to some Rube Goldberg-esque trap to catch it again. With the way he was feeling, he couldn't really promise that he would be as gentile about it as he was a few minutes ago, try as he might. Already his head was threatening to damage him, and that was the lesser one of his problems at the moment.

 

His gray irises landed on a strange marking on the wall, quickly dropping his eyes to the floor, and saw a small crumpled pile of fur, static and fixed like a stone.

 

"Shit..." he muttered, a lingering sense of worry bubbling up in his throat. It was only a squirrel, a defensively vicious one as he had come to find out, but he still felt a little responsible for it. In a way, it had become like a little pet he and Mark had cared for over the past summer, and the thought of it being possibly dead now make him twist a little inside.

 

Learning his lesson, he grabbed the oven mitts hanging off of the cabinet knobs, and put them on, taking the few steps over to where the ball of fluff sat. Squatting, he anxiously rolled the tiny body into his gloved and padded palm.

 

It's eyes were closed, and it's chest wasn't moving. It's mouth hung open slightly, and there was a bead of blood around it's nose. It's body felt like a soggy loaf of bread, and no amount of nudging was changing any of it's statuses.

 

Sean stood with an almost sense of urgency, and plopped the both of them back down at the kitchen table. He shucked the mitts off, and softly pressed it's chest, brows knotting with growing alarm, and tried to bring life back into the rapidly cooling body below him. With each tender push and measured pulse of pressure, he felt his hope slipping away, as he strained over the rush of silence in the room to hear something, anything, that might show a thread of spirit left inside. All he got in return was the echo of nothing, nearly mocking in it's certainty.

 

He bit his lip, and felt guilt coiling around gut. His hands raked through his hair, causing a piece or two to stick out to the side, as he stared at the tiny form underneath. Without thinking, he clamped his mouth down over it's own, and puffed the faintest puff of air he could, before he sat upright again, studying the body, praying for a result.

 

There was new blood around it's nose, the demure spray looking like a popped bubble on it's face, folded line of red stopping just above it's tiny teeth.

 

Sean reached up and ghosted his hand over the area, lips slightly parted in confusion. His tongue snaked out, almost on it's own accord, licking the ruddy flecks from the corner of his mouth.

 

Somewhere, the sound of broken glass was heard.

 

 

***

 

 

Hours later, Mark sat in his car, head flopped back on the headrest just outside of the apartment. The day was remarkably busy, and had really wore on him, the heat from his body mixed with the strain from the semi hunched position he held for hours on end making it feel as if he had done actual physical labor, and not just some form of pencil pushing like he usually did. He breathed deep, hooking his finger under his collar and loosening his tie, trying as best as he could to let the day roll off his shoulders and back into the forgotten abyss of all things mundane.

 

As his mind drifted, the memory of the small bit of conversation he had with Jessica floated through his mind. He had asked her if she had any cooking skills, and if she could help him with a recipe.

 

"Well, I'm not anywhere near competitive or world-class..." she said, "...but, I know my way around a stove. Shoot."

 

"Ok..." he said, optimistically but wary, "...do you know anything about...offal?"

 

Her face pinched together, as if she had just smelled something bad. "The throwaway parts from the butcher? The hell are you doing messing around with _that_ stuff?"

 

"Oh, it's not for me, it's...well, I have a friend...who was interested in having some." he said, trying to smooth out his words as best as he could, "Do you...bake it?"

 

"You have a _'friend'_...who wants to eat organ meat." she stated, expression only falling from the lower half of her visage, leaving the lines around her eyes clearly visible.

 

"Um...yes?"

 

"Why?"

 

"He's...an adventurous eater?"

 

"Sounds more like some sort of _ghoul_ , if you ask me..." she said, shaking her head a bit, "...but, no, never done anything with...guts and brains and stuff."

 

She paused, cocking her head to the side. "You sure your friend isn't like...one of those weird people gone wrong? Like...am I gonna see you on the news under 'Missing Persons' anytime soon?"

 

Mark chuckled in his seat, glazed vision staring into the beige roof above. He really wished he could say something to her about everything that was going on. She was a good person, and he could possibly see her coming to understand their situation, as hard as it might be to digest the first three times around. But, that small lingering doubt, diminutive in size, though loud in the back of his mind, always reminded him of the possibility that it might not go as well as he may think, regardless of how empathetic she may be on an otherwise daily basis.

 

He got out of the car, coffee mug in hand, and trudged up the front stairs and to his front door. With a lazy turn of the silver keys in hand, the door swung open easily, the familiar redolence of home coming over him like a blanket of comfort as he walked past the threshold.

 

Before he even had time to take a step further, he spotted Sean over at the kitchen table, hands threaded in his hair, head pointed down, and something that looked like a folded towel just below his face. Something about the way he sat so stiffly made the whole room feel like something was very wrong.

 

"Sean...?" he ventured, passively making his way over, "You...ok?"

 

"No."

 

"Did...something happen?" he asked, tangents of concern peppering his words.

 

Sean lowered one of his hands, and looked up at Mark with only one of his eyes, before looking back down again, chewing the inside corner of his mouth.

 

"Sean...what happened?" he asked again, voice gaining in stability.

 

He merely looked up, a sad look lingering on his ashen surface, before letting himself sink back down again. His head moved from side to side, as if to answer as nonverbally as he could.

 

A beat of silence. And another.

 

"Sean--"

 

"You shouldn't be near me anymore."

 

Mark almost stepped back, startled. "What? Why? What does that--"

 

"I'm a fuckin' _monster_ , Mark."

 

More silence. With each passing breath he took, he was growing more and more uneasy of what exactly the other wasn't...or couldn't tell him. He pensively reached out, resting a hand on the shoulder of the other, feeling the lack of warmth just under his clothes.

 

"You're not--"

 

"Yes. I am."

 

"Just because you're--"

 

Sean raised his hand, as if to stop the other from even attempting to assuage his position.

 

"This whole time..." he started, gently but slowly unwrapping the towel in front of him, "...you've been teasin' me about bein' a zombie. That I'm gonna eat brains, and...and shuffle around like I've got nothin' better to do. Well, joke's on you, Markimoo..." he said, with a bit of a bite.

 

There, in front of him, was the corpse of a squirrel, it's skin wrinkled and desiccated, it's eyes hollow and it's body flattened as if it had shriveled under the sun. Just below one of it's mummified arms was a pair of thick, deep holes, blackened craters among the otherwise untouched gray fur.

 

"Told ya I'm not a fuckin' zombie. Turns out...I'm a goddamn vampire."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I hope you enjoyed this double dose of story time. :) I'm due in the hospital at 4 pm, so I really wanted to get all this out before all of that happened. It may be a while before I'm able to post again, so, with luck, this will keep the lot of you satisfied until I'm able to get to the laptop in the future. 
> 
> Also, apologies for any spelling/syntax errors/lack of flow. I wrote all of this within 4 or 5 days, and had only one pass at it, so theres bound to be a few mishaps here and there. I'll do better next time. I promise.
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from a Calabrese song of the same name. Go give it a listen. :D


	11. Vampires Don't Exist

"I'm sorry... _what_?"

 

"You heard me."

 

"But..."

 

"I'm part of the undead with teeth, Mark. A bloodsucker in the flesh."

 

"A--"

 

"Vampire. Yes...apparently."

 

Mark looked down once again at the crumpled heap of the former squirrel in front of them, still clinging to the towel with its mummy like paws. If he didn't have someone currently telling him otherwise, he would of sworn that this was roadkill of some kind from weeks ago, minus the smell and tattered gore. With his free hand, he approached the corpse with slow apprehension, unsure of what to expect at this point.

 

"Is it...?" he asked, half a thought dangling just like his fingers above the mottled pile of fur.

 

"He's dead. Yeah." Sean said, as if he was overstating the obvious.

 

Mark absently nodded, as if he actually understood, and delicately touched one of it's twig-like arms, the gritty velvet of it's skin stiff to the touch. He looked over at the squirrel's face, watching it with pained attention, as he cautiously nudged it a few times, waiting for whatever might happen next. It sat, like a gnarled piece of wood, flat and unresponsive to the rest of the world.

 

He drew his hand back and stared at it, mind cascading with questions. His eyes slid over to Sean, who was already looking back at him.

 

"So....you... _drank_ him?"

 

Sean snorted. "Yeah, like a fuckin' can of Guinness. It was _lovely_."

 

"No, what I meant was..." he said, the other's sarcasm not even registering, "...the blood. You...drained him, and, like...that was good for you?"

 

Sean cocked his head to the side, looking at Mark with a restrained face of incredulity. "Did ya not just hear me a moment ago?"

 

"I did, I did. I just..."

 

He let the thought die on his lips as Mark let his head float upwards, words too furiously racing around in his mind to properly form a full sentence. Vampire. Sean was a vampire now. First he was dead, then not, and now...vampire. If you had asked him a week ago if any of this could happen or even make a shred of sense in the real world, he would of laughed at how ridiculous it all sounded.

 

He thought back to the squirrel and how it looked, despite it being right in front of him. It was dry, and shriveled, like a preserved plum, dark skin and all. And the holes...two massive bullet-punched openings, blackened and caked in what he could only assume was residue from the attack.

 

Attack. Was it even an attack? Was Sean even capable of something so...vicious? Was he even in control of it? What if he wasn't? What if...

 

Mark killed the thought before it formed. He had enough faith in Sean to believe that he wouldn't wake up with his throat in the other's mouth anytime soon. At, least, if he could help it. That lingering thought of _what if_ haunted the back of his mind though. Was he being too trusting? Too naïve? Or was he simply turning a blind eye to the possibility because he didn't _want_ to believe it? So many things swirled around in his mind, overlapping and muddled, making his head swim through torrents of mixed feelings. He reached under his lenses and pressed his fingers to his eyelids, letting the pressure ground him in what little way it could.

 

"Look...I know it's...hard ta take in..." Sean said, with a bit of a sigh, "...It happened ta _me_ , and I still don't believe it myself. And...if I could change it, or fix it in any way...I'd do it. I don't want... _this_." he said, gesturing toward the body.

 

"But..." he continued, a thread of sadness hanging in the air, "...I am...what I am, I suppose."

 

Both of them sat in silence, letting the evening traffic outside echo the only sounds throughout the apartment, minutes drawn on in distended time. Mark took in a sharp breath of air before lowering his hands, face pinked where his fingers were just a moment ago.

 

"Vampires don't exist, though."

 

" _Seriously_?"

 

"They don't."

 

"No shit, Mark. And neither do zombies, but ya were willin' ta believe I was one of _those!_ "

 

"Yeah, but--"

 

"A few nights ago, I crawled out of _my own plot_ and came ta see you! And I've been livin' with ya since! But _vampires_  are somehow out of the question?"

 

Mark lethargically shook his head, chewing the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "I'm...sorry. But...can you blame me?"

 

"No, but...now's a _hell_ of a time ta start using logic again."

 

Mark paused, letting his lip slide back into place as his mind digested as much as it could. Vampire. Sean was a _vampire_ now. The word kept floating around in his mind like a piece of undigested bone, its hard, jagged edges poking at his rationale over and over again. For whatever reason, the idea of him being undead wasn't nearly as hard to take in. The dead were just that--dead. They weren't known for their agility, nor their stealth, and they certainly weren't quite as...dangerous.

 

But Sean wasn't _dangerous_...right? Sean was still Sean, smart, snarky, full of life--

 

Mark caught himself on the thought. No heartbeat. Ashen skin.  _Fangs_.

 

Sean went right past impossible, and tumbled head-first into myth territory. But how? How did _any_ of this...or _could_ any of this happen? And more importantly...why?

 

Mark felt the quiet of the room weighing on his shoulders. That feeling haunted the apartment, that heavy, thick feeling that he should say something, anything, lest the silence that drifted like smoke in the middle of it all devour them whole. It was abstruse and complicated for sure, but he knew he'd have all the time in the world to question all the improbabilities and reality, in general, later. For now though, for Sean's sake...he had to try to keep it together, or at least look like he was.

 

"So like...you have pointy teeth now, right?" he asked, letting the logistics melt away from the forefront of his mind.

 

Sean did what he could to hold back a smirk, "I do. Well...sort of."

 

"Sort of?"

 

"Yeah. They...retract, I think."

 

"You _think_?"

 

"Well, they were here, and now not, so...yes?"

 

"Oh. Did it...hurt?" he asked, face pinching for a second upon the question.

 

"Hurt? Why would it hurt?"

 

"Uh....I dunno? I mean...Wolverine's claws hurt when they were exposed, so..."

 

Sean smiled a genuine smile. "You're ridiculous, ya know that?"

 

"Well...someone has to ask the important questions, right?" he said, feigning smugness.

 

Before he could respond, a small churning noise ebbed from Sean's stomach, almost faint enough to not be heard. His smile fell upon the sound, a cross between embarrassment and treason washing over his face as he gradually let his head fall back into place where it was before Mark came home, that familiar curl of emptiness coming back in dull waves. He stiffened, shoulders squared at the joints, and eyed the former squirrel in front of him.

 

"You're still hungry...aren't you?" Mark quietly asked.

 

Sean internally flinched and shook his head, folding into himself as he did. Of course he still was. As fat as the small rodent might of been, it still only had about a mouthful or two of what he needed tucked away in the folds of its flesh. But he wasn't going to admit that. Not to Mark. Not now. He already saw the clouds passing through the others mind just moments before, and he really didn't want to add to the litany of problems he was already causing just simply by being there.

 

"Sean--"

 

"I'm not!" he announced, a bit too loudly, against the fabric of his shirt.

 

"Bullshit."

 

"I'm _not_."

 

"Then what was _that_?"

 

"Nothing."

 

" _Nothing_." he said, parroting the other.

 

"Yes."

 

Mark sighed. "I just want to help you. I can't help you if you're not being honest with me."

 

"I _am_ \--" he started, ready to deny the situation again, head shooting up on his words. But before he had a chance to defend himself, his voice fell silent mid-sentence, brows pulling together in slow alarm.

 

"Mark...ya expecting anyone?" he asked, trepidation lurking just in the back of his words.

 

"No..." he said, trying to read Sean's face, "...why?"

 

"Someone's comin'..." he half whispered, gradually standing from his seat, eyes locked on the front door.

 

Three knocks resonated an instant later. Three loud knocks, each one punctuated with purpose.

 

They both looked at each other.

 

"Who the hell's that?!" Mark nearly hissed, keeping his voice as low as possible.

 

Sean shook his head, and lightly shrugged. His eyes kept going between Mark and the door. "'The fuck if _I_ know!"

 

"Maybe if we just ignore them..."

 

"I don't think ya can."

 

"Why not?"

 

Sean stared at the door. "I smell gunpowder."

 

Three more knocks. More emphatic than the first.

 

"Mr. Fischbach...?" a voice called from behind the door, rich with command.

 

Mark moved, as if to answer, but turned back to Sean first. He grimaced, not liking his choices. Does he stay where he is with Sean, or does he answer the door and take whomever is behind it head on? He wanted to do both, but, in reality, he knew he had to chose. And in either case, something potentially bad was going to happen.

 

Sean saw the creeping dread in the other, and felt it just the same. He could just as easily answer the door himself, and take the possible hit there was to follow, knowing full well that nobody could put him in the ground twice. But, on the other hand, what if whatever was there had no intention to do something like that? What if he was wrong? Then what? Mark still had a normal life to live...could he really justify ruining it just by trying to save it?

 

"Mr. Fischbach..." the voice said, between knocks, sounding like it was tired of waiting.

 

"Go." Sean said, nodding toward the door.

 

"Go?! But what about--"

 

"I'll be fine. Don't worry." he said, voice gaining in assurance, eyes still darting toward the door, "They won't hurt you. I promise."

 

Sean had no real way of knowing if what he said was true, but he would try his damnedest to make it that way. With how he was now, he was sure would hear the click of the hammer pulling back, or the hard rattle of the forestock before it could even be used against Mark. And if what he was picking up on was just remnants from something else, then there wouldn't be anything to worry about. If not, then...

 

Then? Then they would have to deal with _him_.

 

Mark walked over to the door, hand on the knob, and looked back at Sean, half a mannequin grin greeting him back. He nodded once before turning the worn brass, swallowing down his dormant fears and already agitated heart.

 

As the hinges creaked open, there stood two people, both in navy blue. The one with their hand raised, ready to knock again before the door was opened, was a tall, round female, with pale skin and an impatient face. The other, was a shorter male, with a mess of black curls on top, and peppered stubble lining his jaw. Both had holsters at their hips and shiny new badges on their chests.

 

"Ah. 'Evening Mr. Fischbach..." the woman said, lowering he arm, but most certainly not her defenses, "...we're with the county police department. Mind if we step inside for a few minutes?"

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from a Calabrese song of the same name.  
> Go listen to it. Really. You won't be disappointed. :D
> 
> So...it's been months, and I'm still trying to get back on the horse, so to speak, but...let's have some real talk.
> 
> Are the few of you out there reading this totally enjoying it? I ask, because I have certain things I want to happen in this story, but, if nobody really cares, I'll chop all that down and end it sooner than later. Cutting it down won't really affect the story too much, but the ending will have a little less punch to it. I'm not trying to fish for compliments, but, I understand that lengthy stories without a lot of romance/sexy time isn't really what a lot of readers look for on AO3. So, your opinion really does matter to me.
> 
> Either way, try to let me know. And...apologies if this isn't up to my usual standards. I've typed most of this half awake.


	12. When Night Comes Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An honest thank you to those who contributed to the last chapter.  
> You guys are awesome. :)

Mark looked like he had just swallowed a jar of bees.

 

"Oh...hello, officers." he said, fighting the urge to look back behind his shoulder, "What...uh, what brings you guys here?"

 

The woman let out a faint sigh. "Well, you see Mr. Fischbach, theres been an incident."

 

"Incident?" he asked, trying to put on the best vocal performance he could, "What kind of incident?"

 

She looked to the man beside her, both exchanging a flat look to one another, before turning back to Mark. "You might want to take this news inside, sir."

 

"Oh... _inside_?" he said, putting too much emphasis and volume on the word, "You want to _come inside_?"

 

Her lids dropped to half mast, and her mouth formed a wide, flat line. "That would be the idea, sir." she said, overly polite voice not matching the obvious irritation on her face.

 

"Um...well..." Mark started, verbally flailing.

 

As oblivious as he was at times, Mark knew why they were here. Or, at least he thought he did. It had to be something with Sean, he reasoned, but he just didn't know what part, exactly. Surely nobody would of called them just because there was a weird looking person hanging around the premises. And he never left the apartment unless it was with Mark, so he couldn't see how else he might of caused a stir. Unless...

 

Vampire. That word came back to him like a dart to his psyche. He trusted Sean, but, what if the squirrel wasn't his first meal? What if, in between that and coming home from work, he ate something else? Or some _one_ else? And what if he couldn't remember doing it? He already wasn't sure of how the fangs worked, so, what else might he be not so sure about?

 

Mark mentally kicked himself. He was letting his mind wander too far, and he was working himself into a mild state of paranoia. He thought back to how Sean had looked when he first came home, that long, nearly sorrowful expression worn on the others face, staring down at the folded towel like he had just done something irreversibly horrible. And that was over something most people considered a pest, anyway. He could only imagine how he would of looked if it had been an actual person.

 

But, still...the feeling didn't fade that there was a new, unknown dimension to everything now. A dimension which, if he let himself dwell on it long enough, could potentially start to undo the already fraying corners of his mind.

 

Mark felt his midsection contract into a tight ball, as he stared blankly at the officers.

 

"Is...there a problem, sir?" the shorter one asked, thick eyebrows raised in question.

 

What could he do? Denying them a chance to talk would of seemed out of the ordinary, and in all honesty, he couldn't think of a single reason why he couldn't let them in. Well, he did have one _very_ obvious reason, but that was beside the point. They wanted his attention, and the woman, in particular, looked like she wasn't ready to take "no" for an answer.

 

Mark internally sighed. He didn't really have a choice, did he?

 

"No, no...not at all!" he said with a faint, faux smile, gesturing inward, "Just tired, y'know? Ah...please, come in."

 

Stepping to the side, allowing the officers to pass, Mark kept his head facing the door. All at once, the small voice in his head started to come up with a thousand things to say in regards to the extra person in the apartment, every one of them realistic, but every one of them a lie.

 

He didn't like the idea of lying to the police, not in any sense. Just last month, his apartment was flooded with them, taking pictures, filling plastic bags, the din of their walkie talkies sounding like urban birds in a despondent tree. They treated him civilly, but kindly, some of them even offering to stay the night if he needed them to, their soft voices and neighborly hands doing all they could to help ease the fresh suffering that shut him down hard, scattering leaflets and phone numbers to help stop the emotional bleeding. He was grateful for what they had tried to do, and considered himself lucky enough to have that much support from total strangers.

 

But today was different. Today, his living-dead love had sucked a tree rat dry, and may or may not have gotten himself into trouble. A lie was essential in improbable times like these.

 

He turned, after closing the door, and faced the pair, ready with the story of a facetious lifetime just on the tip of his tongue.

 

Only, he didn't need one. Sean wasn't there, and neither was the rumpled towel with the desiccated body inside.

 

"Mind if we take a seat?" the shorter officer asked, pointing toward the kitchen table.

 

"No...go ahead." Mark said, trying his best at keeping a polite face while trying to figure out where Sean went, "Can I get you guys anything?"

 

"No, thank you." The female said.

 

"Already had too much coffee today..." said the other, "...but thanks."

 

Mark nodded, pulling out a chair for himself. He must be hiding, he thought. The windows are all still closed, and the only other way in or out was through the front door. Both the bedroom and bathroom doors were open though, so it was still possible he was in one of those rooms.

 

His eyes stole a glance around the kitchen. Or maybe he was just invisible now. Nothing seemed crazy at this point.

 

The female officer adjusted herself, sitting upright and taking out a red marble-backed notepad and pen. She flipped past the first half of the book, filled to the edges with writing and crude drawings, until she came to a blank page and scrawled "Fischbach" at the top before speaking.

 

"Mr. Fischbach--"

 

"Eh, call me Mark...please."

 

"Right. Mark, This is officer Delgado and I'm officer Moore. We were brought out to Greenfield Memorial Wednesday morning, after the groundskeeper called us the evening before. We understand you were...acquaintances with Sean McLoughlin, correct?"

 

Mark visibly swallowed. "You could say that."

 

"Well...unfortunately, it seems as if someone had broken into the cemetery that night and...desecrated Mr. McLoughlin's resting place."

 

"D-desecrated?" he stuttered, feeling a strange sense of guilt threading it's way into his chest. He put on his best concerned expression just a beat later.

 

"Yes..." she said, softening her voice as she spoke, "Specifically, whomever it was, broke in and...stole the body."

 

Mark let his jaw drop slightly, as he sat, staring mutely at the officer on the other end of the table. Both of them looked back at him with stilted sympathy, eyes seemingly trying to express the comfort their locked faces couldn't. He imagined, that if this was actual news to him, that he would probably feel devastated in a lot of different ways, and hoped that however he was holding his face was proving it.

 

"Now, just so you know..." Delgado spoke, using his hands to punctuate his words, "...we actually put some things in at the lab, so we don't have all the information yet. But were doing everything we can, and we might have some answers sooner than later."

 

"Which is why....if you're able to, we'd like to ask you a few questions. " Moore said, thumbing the pen between her fingers.

 

Mark fraudulently gathered himself, eyes falling to the table as he leaned forward, letting the blow of old information seemingly work its way out of his body. He took a full breath before righting himself, looking at the two through momentarily crinkled eyes before nodding. He was sure that if SAG could see him now, he'd have one of those little gold statues on his bookcase in no time.

 

"Actually..." the shorter male started, sheepish smirk bending the one side of his mouth, "...could I use your bathroom first? Starbucks _really_ runs through you."

 

"Seriously?" Moore spoke, as if she was talking to a child.

 

"Yeah. Sorry, Bern." he said, shrugging toward the other officer, "I'll make it quick though. I promise."

 

"Whatever. I'm starting without you, though." she said, shaking her head lightly as she wrote something down in the notebook.

 

"Thanks." he said, as he stood, looking at Mark expectantly. Mark simply turned and pointed to the door behind him. He silently hoped Sean wasn't already in there. If he was, well...he'd have some explaining to do.

 

***

 

Delgado shuffled past the table, and walked into the bathroom, locking the door as he closed it. He slid over to the porcelain seat just a few steps in, and hastily undid his zipper, huffing a puff of relief as the sounds of water hitting water echoed throughout the room.

 

Sean physically cringed.

 

Directly next to the toilet, behind the closed curtain of the bathtub, Sean sat crumpled in the corner by the drain, holding the dead squirrel to his chest, trying his best to make the both of them as small as possible. It wasn't the smartest of hiding spots, he knew, but it was the best he could come up with at the time; the new bed was too low to the ground to slide under, and crouching behind any piece of furniture would of been too awkward to navigate before he would of either given up or knocked something over.

 

Now here he was, with mammal jerky in his hands, in something that hasn't seen a scrubber in a long time, trying to be as invisible as possible, while listening to an officer pee.

 

An officer, he noticed, that smelled distinctly like hot dogs.

 

***

 

"So..." officer Moore started, looking up from her book, "...if it's alright with you, I'm just going to be direct with what we need to know, and it'll save us both some time and effort."

 

"Okay."

 

"Do you know who could of done this?" she asked, hand poised to start taking notes, "Like...any enemies, any ex lovers...stalkers, even?"

 

"No. We pretty much kept to ourselves." he said. Of all the things so far, this was probably the only truth.

 

"Alright. The groundskeeper had said that you visited the site often. Anything out of place there the last time you went? Any...odd people loitering about?"

 

Mark dropped his eyes to the center of the table. He could think of at least one strange person hanging out in the cemetery, but that wasn't going to benefit anyone in this situation, regardless of how much he would of liked to sell them out to the police. At this point, Thomas was just a weird memory, one that he almost had trouble believing in himself. He let it go.

 

"No."

 

"Owe anyone money? Overdue bills, gambling debts...maybe got involved with a loan shark?"

 

"No."

 

"Any...gang related issues? Or drugs?"

 

Mark recoiled, as if a shoe was just thrown at his head. She raised her hand defensively, as if to apologize for the question before anything could be said.

 

"Just standard questions. I understand."

 

She made a few more notations down into her book, and looked up again, a slight sharpness to her eyes as she formed her words.

 

"The case was never solved, correct?"

 

"No." he said, letting his head dip for a second, "They had a few suspects, but...not enough evidence to actually convict anyone. At least, that's what I was told at one point."

 

She sighed. "Well, I know it's late to say, but...I'm sorry for your loss, all the same."

 

"Thank you."

 

"Yeah...officer Kentaro gave me a rundown when we got assigned to this latest case. Makes you wonder, y'know?" she said, sitting back in the chair.

 

Mark could feel confusion bleeding into his face, but kept it as neutral as he could. Her change in tone was probably just her way of expressing sympathy, without getting into the emotional details. He nodded, feeling like it was the only appropriate response.

 

She clicked the end of her pen once or twice, and stared at the bathroom door. Her mouth twisted to one side of her face before turning back to Mark, features falling back into the neutral-but-polite servant of the law.

 

"So...into birdwatching?" she asked, gesturing toward the feeder on the floor.

 

***

 

Hot dogs. Summer barbecue hot dogs. Premium franks on toasted potato bread rolls, light charring on the outside, with just a thin stripe of ketchup down the middle. Maybe a touch of onion on the side.

 

That's what Sean was picking up on. And it was starting to get to him.

 

Delgado had done his business, but never used the handle. Instead, he was looking at himself in the mirror, running his fingers this way and that over his jawline, looking at the small amount of hair that grew in unevenly colored spots. His face would pinch for a second, then relax, trying to get every angle he could in his reflection, each time he pulled away a sort of dissatisfied look crossing his visage.

 

" _Grow a beard_ , she said. _It'll make you look distinguished_ , she said. Pfft." he mock whispered to himself.

 

Sean chewed a fingernail. With each pass of the officers fingers, the smell would get renewed, like a spritz of perfume, drifting through the air, circling his head. And the fact that the man was probably over-caffeinated and buzzing with warmth only made the scent that much stronger, as if someone had replaced all viable oxygen with that alone. He curled into the corner more, hoping with faint dolefulness that the other would get bored with his vanity sooner than later.

 

"'Distinguished' nothing. _Old_ , is more like it." he said, lightly slapping his cheeks.

 

Sean's lips curled around a knuckle, thinly chewing on the knot. Of all the cops that could of been there, he was stuck with the one who was more concerned about showing his age than doing his job. He screwed his eyes shut, silently cursing in a hailstorm of language.

 

Suddenly, he felt a pair of fangs graze over his skin. And then a weak growl came ebbing from his stomach.

 

Oh no.

 

Delgado stopped, gradually turning his head. He straightened up, and looked over at the shower curtain, a growing curiosity progressively moving his feet forward. He placed one hand on the thin plastic, pausing, as he readied his other hand down at his holster.

 

Sean had to keep himself together. Even if he got caught, he wasn't doing anything wrong, right? This was _his_ apartment, after all. And this guy was technically a guest, so, if anything he had more right to be there than he did, even _if_ he was trying to blend in to the dirty white fixture while eavesdropping and holding something that was questionable at best.

 

It was a poor excuse, though. He knew that wasn't the real reason why he was in there, cowering from a white sheet as if it were poison. He knew the reason why his muscles twitched, and his skin crawled, and he knew the reason why he so desperately wanted to run his teeth over something other than his own hand right now. This man smelled like junk food, and he could feel his instincts starting to blur his morale, like an unctuous smog, thick and dirty.

 

He stared up at the shadow cast by the officer, and waited, the dread and anticipation bubbling up in his throat, as he fruitlessly tried to find the best way to hold his mouth in.

 

"Judd, you done in there?"

 

Delgado looked back at the door, but didn't answer or move. He thumbed open the small button holding his gun in place, turning back to the curtain, licking his lips. His fingers curled around the plastic...

 

"I don't care what you're doing right now..." officer Moore said, between knocks,"...but whatever it is, it can wait. We gotta go."

 

 He winced on her words, and stopped. He hastily composed himself and dropped his hand, brushing down his shirt and imaginary nerves.

 

"Probably just a squirrel or something anyway..." he muttered, backing away and finally flushing the commode.

 

***

 

The moment the officers had left, Mark sagged his shoulders forward, the wear from the impromptu play he just had to perform making even the doorknob he was holding on to seem like a cinder block. He really couldn't fathom how people lied like that on a regular basis, and thanked whatever deity out there that had kept him far away from the idea of becoming a lawyer. He could only imagine how worn and soiled he might of felt otherwise.

 

With a burst, the bathroom door swung open, the sharp sound of metal on drywall clacking catching Mark's attention. Sean came marching out almost as if he was being chased, one hand held pensively at his side, the other holding a terry cloth football.

 

"They gone?" he asked, a slight waver to his words.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Fuck...!" he said, tossing the white bundle on the table, mashing both hands around his ears, threading his hair. He doubled over with a low, agitated groan.

 

"Are you ok?" Mark asked, taking a few steps forward. He couldn't help the unease growing inside and clinging to his words.

 

"No, I'm not!" Sean said, dropping his hands and righting himself again, "Mark, I'm _not_!"

 

Mark could see the pained expression on Sean's face, the way the lines near his eyes looked like they burned and the way the corners of his mouth looked like they were shaking in fear. He was far from crying, but the silted anger and twined unrest made him tear up just the same. Mark reached out, only to have his hand swatted down seconds later.

 

"Don't fuckin' touch me."

 

"Sean--"

 

"I said _don't touch me_!"

 

Mark stood, retreated and subdued. He stepped back, eyes softened and full of why.

 

"Told you I'm a goddamn _monster_ Mark..." he said, tips of his fingers touching the points of his teeth that were no longer there, as his eyes grew hard, feeling his face in disbelief.

 

"You're not--"

 

"Stop. Just _stop_!" he barked, all other emotions slowly fading into a thick line of acrimony, "I almost ate a fuckin' _cop_ just now, Mark! You know what that's like, wantin' to kill someone just because they smell like food?!"

 

"I don't..." he began, trying to find his confidence in the swirling fog of things unanswered and unsaid, "...but I know you're not a monster, Sean!"

 

Sean stared on, incredulity slowly creeping up on him, as he began to gradually shake his head from side to side. He could feel the others trust and care from feet away, and it was, all at once, intimidating and repelling, like flying without wings, intoxicating and reckless. Mark was too good to see the bad, even if it was right in front of him, and Sean would sooner die all over again than to do anything that would hurt him.

 

So he was going to do the only logical thing he could think of. Leave. Leave before he potentially did something he'd regret.

 

He grabbed his hoodie and darted toward the door. Before he got there, a gentle hand grabbed him by the wrist.

 

"Where are you going?" Mark asked, uncertainty coloring everything about him.

 

" _Away_."

 

"Don't." he said, voice sounding low but subdued.

 

Moments passed, as Sean fixed his eyes on Mark, waiting with unknown expectation from the other. Why? Why was he so trusting? He had no reason to be. Especially after everything that had happened earlier. But here he was, holding his hand, asking him to stay, with a look on his face that bordered on something akin to compliance and rejection, like this is how things were supposed to turn out, and Sean was a fool to think otherwise. It hurt to look at him like this, this face, this face of resign, this face of unyielding devotion in the chasm of the unexplained. He could feel that strained spider web of resolve within him waver, making his useless heart shudder for just a moment at the possibility that he might be wrong.

 

Before he knew what he was really doing, Sean took Mark by both sides of his face, and pulled him into an urgent kiss, taking the other's breath away.

 

Why? Why did he care so much? Why was he still here? Why didn't he run? Sean almost flinched with each pass, as his inner monologue kept hitting him over and over again. He couldn't get over it, and he couldn't understand it. Mark was a smart person, wasn't he? Mark was...Mark was...

 

A nearly overbearing scent of sticky, sweet warmth came to him just an instant later, pulling at his senses, knocking him completely out of his thoughts. His eyes shot open immediately as he quickly held Mark at an arm's length, as if he had just been slapped.

 

"Not like this..." he half whispered, blinking rapidly, shaking his head, as if he was waking from a long, haze-induced dream.

 

The door slammed behind him as he left.

 

 

***

 

"Took you long enough." she said, that same impatient look she had before, bending her face.

 

"Sorry Bernadette. Nature calls, y'know?" he said, with half an apologetic shrug.

 

She absently peered out the side window of the police cruiser as Judd slid into the drivers side, adjusting his pants as he sat. Her tooth caught the corner of her mouth as she locked on to the front door of the apartment building, focus shifting from side to side, as if she was trying to see past something that wasn't clearly there. Something bothered Bernadette, and she couldn't totally put her finger on what it was, even now as she sat with her book in her lap, mentally chewing over all the information given to her.

 

"What's up with the short interview, by the way? Doesn't that usually take you much longer? This was like what....10 minutes? Tops?" he asked, lazily putting the keys in the ignition.

 

"I dunno..." she said, sight falling to Mark's car, "Just...something felt off."

 

The motor smoothly caught and rolled, the gentle vibration just a small note as he grabbed the shift. "He _did_ just lose his boyfriend like what...a month ago? Murdered in his own bed? Can't really expect someone to totally act normal after that."

 

"No, no...that's not it." she said, turning to face the other as they slowly pulled away, "I get that."

 

"Then what?"

 

Bernadette looked back at the apartment through the rearview. Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she caught sight of a figure with cement colored hair leaving the complex, wandering into the ever darkening streets, fading into the night.

 

"I wish I knew."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to those who were kind enough to voice their opinions. As it stands, I'll be writing the story as how I originally meant it, without cutting anything out. I only hope to not disappoint or lose anyone for the remainder of the ride. :D
> 
> Also, I feel ridiculously clever for coming up with Judd Delgado...a name I based solely off of Splatoon. I probably shouldn't, but, its dumb things like this that make me feel like I'm not a total hack. Heh heh.
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from a Tiger Army song of the same name. Give it a listen, if you'd like.


	13. Wander Alone

Night had come down hours ago, and yet still, Sean marched on into the darkening streets and shadowed walkways.

 

He had no idea where he was going, he just had a sense to _go_ , to get as far away as his legs would carry him, and never to look back. He didn't want to leave, he never wanted to, and god knows how it felt when he slammed the door practically in Mark's face. But he had to. He had to distance himself from him. If it wasn't for the fact that the other potentially tasted as good as he smelled, then his blind goodness alone surely would of crushed him from the inside out.

 

He was a monster. He was sure of it. And Mark deserved so much better than all this. He didn't deserve to have to resort to lies, or to be bound to wherever this new life of his was taking him. He still could have a mundane life, just like everybody else. If anything, Sean felt as if he owed him this much. Especially after everything he's already done.

 

Why did he come back? What made him think he  _could_ come back? At the time, it seemed like the only answer, once he woke up in that coffin, pawing at pine and steel cage, desperate to get his head above the ground. But was that what he should of done? Shock Mark with his new skin, ask him to swallow everything that was being fed to him, and then go on, as if everything was as it should be? Would he of been better off living with the memory of what he was, rather than what he eventually had become?

 

He thought so. Looking back on it now, it was perhaps the most stupid thing he could of ever done. He could chalk it up to a number of things, like the sheer disorientation of memories colliding and not matching up, or the paint thinner smell of the methanol he was leaving all over the perfectly tended grass, but in the end, he knew he just wasn't thinking right.

 

He'd live through it. If he could somehow push past the hand of death to even make it back, then he could surely live the rest of his unnatural life alone. He wished there was another way, but he really didn't have one at this point. Not if it meant he could kill the one thing in this world he valued above anything else.

 

He rounded another corner, and stopped just under one of the streetlights, it's golden halo casting a canary glow to his otherwise gainsboro features that weren't covered by a thick layer of makeup or clothing. He wasn't tired, despite being awake from the moment he took in his first false breath, but he figured his body might need a rest, even if it wasn't asking for one. He sat on the lip of the curb, knees drawn close to his chest, as he let his head loll back, basking in the cold light from the facetious sun above.

 

His stomach rolled. He hadn't forgotten. He was just trying to ignore the onerous impulse that had gotten him here in the first place. Sean knew he could probably ignore it for a day or two, maybe even longer, but eventually, he would get the urge to eat again. And if it was anything like the first time, then...

 

He closed his eyes. Would he do it? Would he feed again? Would he attack another living thing?

 

No. Surely not. Surely he could control it. Surely he didn't have it within him. Surely his voice of reason would come in and stop him, even as his mouth dripped in anticipation over the next beating heart. It had to, right? That's what it was there for.

 

Sean bitterly snorted. That didn't save Pumpkin, now did it?

 

"Huh. And here I thought I was the only one riding the 83 at night."

 

Sean's eyes flew open at the sound. There, standing above him and peering down, was the same man he saw at the Holiday pushing the lemon cart, blonde hair creating a curtain around his face, tired eyes smiling despite their wear.

 

"Heh...sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up er anything. I just don't normally see people out here this late."

 

Sean froze. What now? He hadn't planned on actually coming across anyone at this hour, let alone one that talked to him. He truthfully thought that if anyone _was_ out, that they would be either too drunk or self-involved to pay him any mind. For a moment, he debated on whether or not he'd actually respond, or just get up and run and pretend like he was never there. It wouldn't be too bad, he thought. Crazy people come in all forms.

 

"Can I?" he asked, tilting his head toward the curb.

 

Sean nodded. It was a public space. It's not like he could say no, and make it actually stick.

 

The man sat with a rock to his hips, and folded his legs in a messy pile underneath. He had on, what looked like a black and white uniform, long white sleeves rolled to the elbows, first two buttons and his bowtie undone, and a pair of shoes that shone under the light, despite their obvious age. He wormed his hand around in his pants pocket for a second before pulling out a small, hard candy, it's buttery wrapper indicating it was probably some sort of caramel. It went into his mouth shortly thereafter, paper almost going with it.

 

"So..." he said, sugared lump in his mouth clicking on his teeth, "...you live in the sticks too, huh?"

 

Sean paused, feeling himself stutter internally on the question. He didn't want to socialize, to be honest. Not because he didn't want to entertain the man, but more because he was afraid he didn't know how to handle himself yet. If being in close proximity to that cop for a little while made his willpower shudder and his morale blur, even for just a modicum of time, then what would happen here, on a dark street, with nobody watching?

 

The thought made him shrink, as he felt the salty taste of shame and sick rise in the back of his throat. He forcefully swatted down the idea, deep under the din of his mind, and manually leveled himself out. He could control himself. He could keep himself in check. Or, at least, he told himself he could, if he just tried harder.

 

He looked at the lemon cart man for a moment. He could always run, right?

 

"Yeah..." Sean said, low but still audible, "...middle of nowhere, alright."

 

The other looked at him funny for a second, eyes pinching as he cocked his head.

 

"You got an accent there?"

 

Sean stared at the man next to him, almost looking through him. Clearly, he didn't know the man, but he knew that a voice like his was far from common, and he doubted very much that he could get away with talking to him normally. He had no idea how far the news of his death might of gotten to local ears, but just to play it safe, and to avoid any truly personal questions, he threw on an accent...the first random one that came to mind.

 

"Ah..." he started, clearing his throat, "...just frogs in my throat. Fall allergies."

 

"New York, huh?"

 

"What?"

 

"'S where you're from, right?"

 

"Yeah...New York." he said, feeling the lie come easily enough. Was that what he sounded like?

 

"What part?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"What part of New York are you from?" he asked, a grin crawling up his face.

 

"Oh. Uh, Albany." he said, with false confidence. That was a New York city, right?

 

The man nodded, taking the information in, as if he was stowing it away for later. The candy in his mouth rolled around once or twice before he straightened and held out a hand, smile turning wide and warm.

 

"I'm Ted, by the way. Ted Miller."

 

Sean took his hand and shook it, a weird sense of trepidation working its way right up to his head. It felt very much like a dulled, cold electricity, blue sparks snaking their way up from the base of his skull, like a much more intense version of that odd displacement he had felt at the Holiday. For a second, he considered dropping his hand like a hot coal and putting as much distance as he could between them. He quickly swallowed the idea though, letting the coil of unease settle somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Arbitrary feelings that had no basis on anything wasn't going to benefit him any, so he let them lie where they stood.

 

"I'm Jay..." he said slowly, continuing with this fake identity, "...Jay Essie."

 

"A pleasure." he stated, seeming genuine. "So, Jay, do you always dress up like the unibomber before you head out at night?"

 

"Only on the weekend." he said, not missing a beat. Might as well make a joke out of it. How else could he believably explain how covered he was? A germaphobe with night blindness?

 

"Oh?" The other asked, a sarcastic questioning to his tone, "And why's that?"

 

"Cosplay. Terrible cosplay." he said, tossing the words out like they meant less than they did, "I'm into it."

 

Ted turned his head to let out a few quiet chuckles, shoulders gently bouncing, "Duly noted."

 

Both of them fell silent shortly thereafter, with only the very distant sounds of police sirens and crickets peppering the otherwise stiff air between them. As Sean stared off, eyes only half focused on the windows just across the street, he figured now would be as good as time as any to leave. He'd make some lame excuse about forgetting his wallet, and trot off before he was offered any help; an easy enough plan, and one that surely wouldn't have any sort of consequence. Then, he would just have to be sure not to linger around this street light, at this hour of the night again.

 

As he had the thought, a strange odor caught his attention. It was heavy, and thick, a slow moving kind of smell that permeated through clothes and the pores of your skin. At first, he couldn't really put a finger on _what_ exactly it was, just that it was slowly creeping into his head and demanding that he pay attention to it. The more he caught the scent though, the more he didn't like it, as the only thing he could possibly think to compare it to was if used motor oil went sour.

 

Beneath his glasses, he casually glanced around, looking for the car or engine that was responsible. Maybe there was even a house fire in the distance. Or a garage that was still open. Nothing he could see or hear though matched. If anything, as he noticed, they were in a fairly tree-heavy part of town, with suburban houses and wide, open lawns creeping into the city limits.

 

He took in a deep breath, and moved his head from side to side, as if he were trying to rid himself of a kink in his neck. Whatever it was, or wherever it was, seemed like it was sitting right next to him...

 

His eyes slid over to Ted.

 

It was him. It had to be. He looked like he was too cleanly dressed to be a mechanic, though. Did he step in something? Maybe some old hair treatment he was using?

 

The other man caught Sean looking at him, and half smiled again. His hand darted down into his pocket, and rifled around for a bit, before pulling out another hard candy.

 

"Sorry. You want one?"

 

His hand held the yellow lump between his calloused fingers, just inches away from Sean's face. The scent came rolling off of him in waves.

 

"Ah...no thanks." he said, trying not to pinch his nose in mild disgust.

 

What _was_ it? Why did he smell like that? Why was it everywhere on him? And why would someone walk out of their house with _that_ all over them? Was it bug spray? An antiseptic of some kind? Whatever it was, it made his tongue curl in the back of his mouth. It was so bitter, so unappealing, so...

 

...unappetizing.

 

The thought hit Sean like a bat to the head. That wasn't something he was _wearing_. That was _him_ , and _solely_ him. There was something...something unique about him that made him unpalatable entirely, and the more Sean dwelled on it, the more it made his mind fire off in a thousand different tangents. Why? Why was he like that? Was it something in his blood? Was it genetic? Was it something he did? Why was he different?  _How_ was he different?

 

Then the big question hit him just as hard, making his eyes widen with the possibility. What if...what if he was just like _him_? A malformed creature, just trying to live out his days as normally as he could? The thought seemed absurd, even as the words formed in his head. But even _if_ he wasn't a vampire, and even _if_ he wasn't abnormal quite like he was, he still had _something_ that separated him from any others that he had encountered. If he could find out just what that was...maybe he could find out something about himself in the process. And maybe even a way to tamp down his cemetery smile for good.

 

The thought of Mark drifted in, on the coattails of the budding promise his mind was already giving himself. For a second, he felt something deep within his chest flutter, like dead leaves in the autumn air.

 

"Ah, here we go." Ted said, head turned. Just down the road, a heavy set of headlights flashed, tires sluggishly treading over small dips in the worn blacktop. He stood, dusting off the bottom of his pants.

 

"Hey..." Sean said, the words coming from him on their own accord, "...catch the next one with me."

 

"What?" Ted asked, a quirk to one of his eyebrows, "Jay, this is the last bus of the night. Next one won't be 'till after 6 in the morning."

 

"Well...we barely had any time to talk, is all." Sean said, standing, scrambling for a point to be made, "And...I'm...new to the city. No friends yet."

 

"Aren't you getting on?" Ted asked, a cross between amusement and confusion making the stubble on his face glow in the streetlight.

 

"I would...but I just found out that I got a hole in my pocket." Sean said, trying his best to give off an amiable appearance without seeming desperate.

 

"Well, shit, man. I wish you would of told me sooner." he said with a frown, "I would of tapped the ATM down the street if you needed it. All I have on me now is my transpass."

 

Sean smiled and shrugged, gloved hands perched inside his pockets, picking at the threads. He hoped, with whatever he could muster, that the other would reconsider, stay behind and possibly let some sort of information slip, or at the very least walk and talk with him to find another bus home. Anything, Sean wanted, that might make him hang around just that much more. He shifted gently from foot to foot, with a clinging sense of anticipation stemming up from his legs, indolently turning his former interest into a growing sense of curiosity.

 

The 83 appeared moments later, crawling to a stop just a few steps away, doors hissing open. Sean regarded it mutely, eyes only looking at its muddied blue trim and grime-colored chrome once before switching his attention back to the other, a dulled sense of alacrity stirring within.

 

Ted gingerly took hold of the accordion door as he stepped on, turning back to Sean, hitching one of his shoulders. "I'll be here tomorrow, if it helps. Same time." he said, brows raised in optimism.

 

"Sure." Sean said, the distant letdown never showing in his voice or face, "Tomorrow, then."

 

Ted nodded and hopped on, giving a short wave before the doors closed behind him. Sean watched as the metal behemoth shuddered to a slow gait, tires softly crunching over loose gravel and tiny bits of glass strewn about the tacky street before turning and heading out, further into the night.

 

Tomorrow, then.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, yes. Not my best, I know. And I kicked myself over it, because I'm still not totally satisfied. But in the spirit of making progress, I decided not to dwell too hard on just a small portion of something bigger. And if I kept looking at it any longer, it potentially might not of even made it to virtual paper.
> 
> So...yeah. e.e
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from a Tiger Army song of the same name. Go give it a listen, if you'd like. Also, +10 points to anyone who caught on to Sean's fake name. :3


	14. Night in the Lonesome October

Bernadette sat at her desk, thumbing a pen through her fingers.

 

She had work to do. Granted, she had a _lot_ of work to do. There was a stack of paperwork on her right, and computer screen full of blank prompts on her left, but she was solely fixated on what was in front of her.

 

Her eyes glazed over the words, for probably about the eleventh time that hour. _Fischbach_. The name rang around in her head like a dull bell, its ricocheting tone making the rest of the page not truly register as information at all. She couldn't point to any one thing that made her feel that way, more like it was a weird nagging sensation that plucked at the back of her mind like a broken banjo, lazy and slightly out of tune. Absently, she drew out how the night went in her mind, trying to find that one snag that might justify her focus, if only for a moment.

 

Nothing. Regardless of how much she poked at it, she could only come up with a scant few things that even remotely seemed odd, like the broken birdhouse or the random pair of shoes by the door, and even then that was kind of stretching it. What was it? Why couldn't she let it go?

 

"You're _still_ at it?" Judd called, coming up from behind her desk.

 

"Yeah..." she said, tossing her pen at the pile on the right, "...can't really say why, though. It's just..."

 

"Intuition?" he offered.

 

" _Pssht_. Please." she said, looking at him with a small dubious glare.

 

"Well...what, then?"

 

"I wish I knew. It's almost like...theres something else I'm not seeing here. Like I feel like I'm being lied to somehow, but I don't know why."

 

"So... _woman's_ intuition then?" he said, smirking.

 

"No, you _dick_." she said, with a smirk of her own, "This is something more than that. You honestly can say you didn't think something was off over there? Like...none of this is bothering you too?"

 

"Well..." he said, playfully looking skyward for a moment,"...his bathtub _did_ make a funny noise, but...I don't think we need to get involved with someone else's bad plumbing. That, and we have other cases to worry about. A missing body is kinda low on the list, y'know?"

 

"I know." she said, threads of resignation sticking to her words.

 

"Besides...like I said before, if he was acting kinda weird, could you really blame him? Given the fact that I'm sure the dust hasn't fully settled over there, I'm willing to forgive a few stutters and stares."

 

"But still..." she said, mouth going lopsided, "...I can't shake that feeling."

 

She let her head fall back to the paper in front of her, half a sigh coming from her nose. Judd eyeballed her for a few moments, watching her stunted gears turn however much they could before resetting and starting again, almost as if she was mentally talking herself into circles.

 

"Look..." he said, almost hesitantly, "...would it help if I pulled up more information? Like, on the murder, or maybe some personal stuff on Fischbach?"

 

"Maybe." she said, face picking up slightly.

 

"Okay. I'll see if Sue Ellen can find some things before she heads home for the night. In the meantime, it would really help the both of us if you could make all this paperwork disappear."

 

Her mouth formed a wide, flat line. "About that..."

 

"I know, I know..." he said with a wave of his hand, "...I'm this week's errand boy though, remember? People are pretty particular about the dumbest stuff."

 

"And just how many trips actually _required_ you to go over the bridge to get them?" she asked, unamused.

 

Judd shrugged. "None."

 

 

***

 

 

Sean stared out into the open clearing before him, head tipping back onto the tree just behind.

 

He had walked for a good while last night, and walked on even further this morning, going wherever his feet would take him, without real direction and without real purpose. Currently, he was sitting in the middle of one of the city's overgrown parks, the landscape itself looking very much like a chunk of forest that had been placed unceremoniously in the middle, with shoddy, rusted paths and old growth for miles in any direction.

 

He stayed there on purpose. With each passing person he encountered between last night and now, his stomach would ache, sending tendrils of emptiness from the pit just below his rib cage, squeezing his bones and pulling at his insides. That gnawing sting he had felt earlier in the week was nothing compared to what it was like now, as his body knew what it wanted, knew how to get it, and demanded it with an ever growing gluttony.

 

Thankfully, he didn't behave the same way around them as he did the cop in the bathroom. Mostly because he only caught just the faint scent of them, and he didn't want to stay long enough to find out if he would. They all still smelled edible though. Still inviting, still so teasingly close. And it troubled him that part of him wanted to know what they felt like on his tongue, what they actually tasted like.

 

None of them, however, had that same, acidic oil scent that Ted had, that strange perfume-like smell akin to diesel fuel and old orange juice. And it only served to make him stand out even more. What made him like that? Why was he special? He had nearly a whole day to think about it, yet, he couldn't come up with anything that made any more sense then his first series of guesses, as ridiculous as some of them were. He _had_ to be something different. He _had_ to be exceptional somehow. He couldn't be just a normal person who happened to develop some sort of vampire repellant by chance.

 

Sean stood, shaking the few browned leaves that stuck to his jeans off, only half regarding the dew that had stained parts of them a deeper blue than the usual stonewash. He didn't have a way to tell time aside from passing by buildings that might have a display out front, or the occasional passing radio, so he figured showing up to that same bus stop early couldn't hurt. Adjusting his hood and accessories, he walked on into the would-be woodlands, candlelight colored afternoon sun warming him through his clothes.

 

Vireos flitted above as he went, their autumnal songs echoing in the fading blades of grass and the yellowed leaves, nestled deep within the arms of the last remaining shows of summer. The solstice winds feathered through his hair, and, for just a moment, he was able to stand back and appreciate the small things that were all around him, things that, prior to knowing what death was really like, he never took note of. If he didn't have somewhere to be, Sean thought, he could probably spend the day here, just pretending, just hiding, in the idea that everything was ok, and he wasn't living like a vagabond out in the wilderness, flawed and alone.

 

Somewhere, under the quiet chatter of the flora and fauna, he picked up on the gentle snap of twigs under approaching sets of shoes, only a few feet away.

 

"Hey man...you got a dollar on you?"

 

Two boys, both no older than 13 stood by the peeling oak trees just ahead, looking directly at Sean, blocking his way. One of them had sandy brown hair, and was covered in freckles, while the other had a cast on his arm and neon colored sneakers. They both looked like they spent a lot of time out and about in the area, as both of them had very small patches of dried soot smeared on their pants, and pockets filled with who knows what, making their otherwise fresh looking, navy and white uniforms seem worn and older than they probably were.

 

"I don't." Sean said, unintentionally flat, "Sorry."

 

"Aww..." the one with freckles said, tilting his head to the side, "We need it, though. To get home. Fran here dropped his wallet."

 

The kid with the neon sneakers nodded, face looking like he had just told a dumb joke.

 

"If I had it to give, I would. But I'm broke myself." Sean said, glancing at either one of them. It was true. Most of his things were still in storage or in the basement somewhere, and if he had taken anything on his way out the night he left, he would of been just stealing from Mark.

 

"Well, what _do_ you have, then?" the one named Fran asked, biting his lower lip.

 

Sean huffed. "None of your fuckin' business, that's what."

 

He side-stepped them and continued walking, only to have them catch up seconds later. They stood in front of him again, as if they were an effective barricade between here and there, grinning.

 

"Those glasses look kinda nice."

 

"I'm sure we could trade 'em for a few bucks."

 

"Or...you could _fuck off_." Sean said, with a bit of bite.

 

"But we _neeeed_ it..." the one with freckles said, facetiously begging.

 

Before Sean had a chance to respond, Fran reached out and took them off his face. He flinched a moment later, and looked at him with newly minted disgust crawling across his features.

 

"What the hell's wrong with your eyes?" he asked, backing up.

 

"They look...messed up." the other said, squinting as if he wasn't seeing it clearly enough.

 

"I'm....I'm sick." Sean said, closing his eyes for a second, in an attempt to stow away the building feeling of irritation at the insolent two, "Can I have those back now?"

 

"Nah." Fran said, looking at his ill-gotten treasure, pocketing them just as quickly, "I think we'll keep 'em. What else ya got?"

 

"Seriously?" Sean said, agnostic tone taking control.

 

"I bet he's got a phone on him."

 

"Oou, I bet he does!"

 

Sean had about a thousand different ugly things he wanted to say right now, but chose to be an adult in this situation and kept it all to himself. These were children, after all. Even _if_ they were trying to hustle him at the moment. It was going to be a bit tough carrying on without something to cover his eyes, he knew, but at this point they can keep the damned glasses. He'd find something else to replace them if he had to, or at the very least, he'd consider obtaining a cheap stick of eyeliner and just going with a heavy goth look for a while, as much as he hated the idea. With a grimace, he sidestepped the pair again, and tried to walk on, feet moving a bit faster than before.

 

They both darted in front of him just a moment later, mischief more evident on their faces than before. Sean couldn't help but notice the smell of chips that followed them.

 

"Move."

 

"Nah." the one with freckles said, in a near sing-song voice.

 

Sean dipped his head down, and bit the inside of his cheek. Despite telling himself to do so otherwise, his face started to scowl, and he could feel the rising caustic tension curl in his torso and lick the back of his neck. They're kids. Dumb, naieve kids. He used to do things like that when he was a kid, right? Granted, he never tried to rob anyone, but still. Kids were downright shitty beings when they really wanted to be.

 

He stepped around them one more time, only to be stopped before getting anywhere. That same smell trailed behind them again, and he felt his stomach start to claw for attention.

 

"Fuckin'... _move!_ "

 

"Or what?" Fran said, almost as a dare.

 

"You gonna hit a _kid_?" the other said, feeling smug.

 

Not waiting for a reply, the one with freckles sauntered over, eyes never leaving Sean's, and dove both hands inside his hoodie pockets, stubby fingers grabbing at the lint and whatever else his hands landed on. A taunting smile cracked his face nearly in two, as he watched Sean visibly go rigid.

 

 _Oh_.

 

Without a thought, Sean grabbed him tightly by the front of his shirt, fingers burrowing themselves within the buttoned folds, and nearly lifted him an inch off the ground. The teens eyes stretched open in surprise, half from the abruptness of it all, half in sheer disbelief.

 

"Hey, asshole!" Fran cried, trying to grab his attention. With a heavy swing, he aimed directly for Sean's face with the cast on his arm, leading with the scuffed side out. It was caught effortlessly a beat later, with Sean's other free hand.

 

He held them both at an arms length, kicking and pawing at either hand, as he let his head roll back, eyes closed, and took in a deep, sharp breath. The one wriggling on his left, aimlessly slapping his arm and trying to punt his shins to no avail, began to resemble a bag of off-brand plain chips, salty, but flat on crunch and flavor. The other, who kept trying to dance his way around and strike Sean with his other arm while spitting basic obscenities at him though, had a similar, but distinctly better scent to him. He was more like a bag of thinly sliced, boardwalk-inspired vinegar chips, briny and pungent in all the good ways, a scent that made the top of his tongue dip and salivate in anticipation.

 

Sean opened his eyes, and stared into the face of the one with freckles. He let his mouth hang open freely and deliberately, fangs slowly descending on their own accord, pearly teeth glowing in the dying sun.

 

" _Run_."

 

He dropped the teen like a stone, shirt still bunched toward the center of his chest, feet stuttering back at the sudden full-feeling of ground beneath his scuffed shoes. Like a cockroach, he scrambled to gain his balance again, wordlessly taking off in the opposite direction, breathing erratic and eyes wide as if he had just seen a ghost.

 

Sean turned to the other one still in his grasp, who still trying his best to wriggle away, thrashing and jumping backwards, twisting this way and that, all to no avail.

 

"Empty your pockets."

 

"F-fuck you, man...!" Fran stuttered, trying to contest. The fear was evident on his face though. The grip he had on Sean's arm was getting shakier by the second, and his body was flushed of color, snowy and pale.

 

Sean took in another heavy inhale, and looked at him dead-on, eyes clouding over as if he had a third lid over them. He gave the teen a narrow, deformed smirk, and let a thread of fluid fall from the tips of his already prominent incisors, as his leather gloves creaked over the cast, the slow popping of the stiff material threating to break under any more applied pressure.

 

"Please don't make me ask you again."

 

Fran's legs involuntarily buckled, as he hung in the air for a moment like a limp ornament, flaccid and fragile, strung up only by his bad arm. His mouth shuddered, as if he wanted to cry but forgot, as he fumbled for traction both mentally and physically, nearly vibrating with panic.

 

The teen reeled back and clumsily staggered around his pants, flinging whatever he could get his hands on out of his pockets, letting it all hit the ground in ham-handed clumps, even turning out the fabric therein to show that they were empty. Fran turned his head when he was done, face pinched with the prelude of regret and tears, lips struggling to keep themselves from letting anything escape them.

 

Sean dropped him like a fowl lump. He kept his eyes locked on as he watched the boy roll in the dirt, his legs still just as useless, before skittering away on all fours, the horror he felt still blanching his motor skills worthless. Before long, he was just a dot on the horizon, overhanging branches and rotting wood swallowing him whole, into the urban timberland, into growing night.

 

Sean screwed his eyes shut, and stood still. Minutes passed as the forest around him seemed to settle in the evening light, with the only sounds coming from the quiet shush of the trees or the far off hum of an engine. It was as if the earth around him was coming down for the day, and letting itself relax under the impending ink just beyond the lip on color still left in the sky, sparks of orange and rose gently sliding under the lapis glow.

 

He fell to his knees.

 

It was a terrible thing to do, he knew. A terrible, idiotic, possibly harmful thing to do to those kids, but he did it all the same. There was no contingency in his head that even said that he could absolutely control how his body would react to the smell of them, letting whatever happen, happen, in the most dangerous way possible. What if the kid had said no? What if he took in enough of their scent? Did he have any idea what would of happened next, if he let it go far enough?

 

He did. Of course he did.

 

And he hated it.

 

And he hated himself for it.

 

His stomach flipped and soured, almost angry at the denial of another meal, invisible hands grasping at the inside of his throat. He wouldn't be able to go on like this forever. Eventually, either his willpower or his darkened instincts would take over, with or without his consent, and he would starve on his humanity or gorge on his immoral need.

 

He picked up his glasses among the piles of random things, and slid them back on, taking what little solace he could in at least having his full disguise back. Tucked under a throng of rubber bands near his hand, sat a wad of crumpled dollar bills and coins, their scuffed silver surfaces still glittering amongst the damp soils and tree debris. He pocketed what he could of them, leaving anything else to the whims of the next passerby.

 

Was he losing all that was good within him? Was he slowly becoming an animal now? He could of just scared them and let them go, without resorting to giving them some sort of traumatic shock, let alone robbing them on top of it. Why? Why did he do it?

 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembered the stories his mom used to tell him of things that went bump in the night, stories that adults would use to keep their children in line and fearful of a world without the protective hand of a loved one to guide them.

 

He was one of those things now.

 

He was the thing under your bed, the voice in your closet, the hand tapping on your window.

 

He was a monster.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I maaaay be accidentally putting a location to where this is all happening with some of these descriptions. I tried to keep it as neutral as possible, but the imagery just lent itself so well to this chapter that I couldn't resist. So, sorry if this shatters anyones perception of wherever they thought this was taking place. It's at least pretty, contextually speaking. :D
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from a Calabrese song of the same title. And, coincidentally enough, they cribbed the title from a Richard Laymon book, so, in a sense, the title has come full circle. Heh heh. 
> 
> Questions, comments and criticisms are always welcome. Seriously. Don't fear the little box at the bottom. It all helps. 
> 
> Edit: Over 100 kudos! Thank you so, so much! :D


	15. Worn Threads

"So, tell me about yourself."

 

"Man, you don't waste any time, do you?"

 

"Well...I'm just making up for yesterday."

 

Sean sat on that same lip of the curb, the same one he was on just the night before, shoulders folded forward, back arched and sagging, almost to his bent knees. He looked defensive and weary, as if he was waiting for someone to run up and push him into oncoming traffic, as the evening replayed over and over in his head, like a broken VCR, a little fuzzy, full of static, and skipping from one scene to the next. He could feel the remorse digging into his eyes, and for once since he was resurrected into this damnable existence, he was grateful that his real face was hidden from the rest of the world.

 

He was tired. He was so tired. He could feel it deep within himself, that dragging iron chain that said he did something wrong, mixing with the battery fluid licking the back of his throat, making him swallow sticky dry lumps that neither helped nor satisfied the want that festered at the root of his hollowed insides. Never before all this had happened did he think that one day, he would be relieved to speak to someone that smelled like a piece of true urban decay.

 

"What's to know?" Ted said, taking his spot near Sean, flicking the hair from his face with a shake, "I'm in my early thirties, I work two jobs, and I enjoy a good, cold beer. I'm kinda simple, really."

 

Ted readjusted his already rolled sleeves further up as he turned to Sean. "What about you, though? You said you were new to the city. What made you move?"

 

"Ah...work, actually." he lied. "Got transferred."

 

"I see. We treating you ok out there?" he asked, the corner of his mouth pulled up a little.

 

"Sure. I mean, a city's a city, right?"

 

"Well, I wouldn't say _that_...I mean, we're certainly no Albany. Plus theres gives and takes with anywhere you live, y'know?"

 

"True..." Sean said, trailing.

 

"So? Rate us."

 

"What, like...now?"

 

"Sure. I'm always curious about what outsiders think of something I see everyday."

 

"Uh..." Sean started, faintly thinking of something to say, "...Well, the...museums are nice. And the parks are lovely too."

 

" 'Lovely', huh?" Ted asked, with a smirk.

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing, nothing. Continue."

 

"Ah...yeah...." Sean said, slightly confused, "...So...those, and...and the food. The pizzeria over on Arch is good, and theres a whole line of good things over on Third--"

 

Ted let out a few quiet laughs.

 

" _What_?"

 

"You're not really from Albany, are you?" he said, still letting the smile sit on his face.

 

"What...do you mean?" Sean asked, trying to sound as reasonably confused as he could.

 

"Just...some of the things you've said. They have a little something _extra_ to them."

 

Sean swallowed, looking at Ted. His mouth hung open ever so slightly.

 

"Well..." he started, rapidly looking for something to say, "...my, uh...my parents were foreign. So I guess I must've picked up on some of it."

 

Ted nodded. "Fair enough. You're only the second person I've ever met who wasn't 'organic' to the city, so I guess it kinda stuck out to me. Not that its a bad thing, by any means. It just makes you...a little _special_ , I guess."

 

"...Thanks." he really didn't have anything else to say other than that. He tossed it to the side, only half appreciating the sentiment.

 

"So...we have the good. Now let's hear the bad." Ted said, with an even face.

 

"Do I have to?"

 

"Well, _no_ , you don't _have_ to, I just thought..." he trailed, half shrugging.

 

He could feel the conversation falter on just those few words. A tap of uneasiness struck Sean right behind the eyes, a sudden uneasiness that this man was going to walk away if he didn't keep up with the somewhat plain conversation, and an uneasiness that he may never know what made him different from anyone else. And, if he had any hope of preventing himself from leaping on the next living thing and draining them hollow, he was going to have to be more engaging, more open, even if every part of him currently felt like it was filled with sand, heavy, gritty, and dry. With an internal sigh, he cleared his throat, and tried to sit a little straighter, putting on a small, but cordial façade.

 

"Well, traffic, for starters." he said, turning to face the other, "It's never consistent. Some days, there _is_ none, others, its as if every car in the city has to be where _you_ are."

 

"Yeah, I hear that! Especially if it snows." he said, smirking.

 

"Don't even get me started!" Sean said, putting on more of a personality front than he probably wanted to, "I took a ride with...a coworker one night, and almost got into 4 different accidents!" The narrative came off easily enough. In actuality though, it was Mark, picking him up from work when all the busses had stopped running earlier that night.

 

"Hah! Yep, sounds about right!"

 

"Then all of them tried to make it seem like it was _our_ fault! There were patches of ice all on the roads, and the tiniest things were making us slide left and right. So sorry we bumper-tapped your shitty Honda Civic, but we were also trying to avoid about a million other things, too!" he said, with a slight chuckle.

 

Sean felt the small trickle of the memory come back to him as he spoke, as the blast of heat from the car vents, mixed with the fog on the windows, and the faint murmur of the radio slowly filled in the picture in his mind. He remembered it happened right after he decided to dye his hair, and his scalp still burned a little from the bleach he had used, but it didn't stop him from raking his fingers through there a few times just to feel the new texture it had. He remembered a hand, slowly taking his, moving from the top of his head, down to between the front seats. He remembered a voice, telling him that if he kept it up, that it was probably going to fall out. He remembered how warm he felt, despite the thick sheets of white all around. He remembered...Mark.

 

He felt his politeness waver slightly from his face. Sean closed his eyes, just behind his glasses, and felt it all ripple through him, like a stone thrown in water.

 

"Some people..." he spoke, only half heartedly keeping the charade up, "...would outright kill you if they had the chance."

 

Ted nodded. He seemed to understand on some level, and let his head dip down in the stillness that followed. Absently, he began picking at the frayed threads on his wrist, the black braided string circling it looking like it had been there for a long time, and had probably been altered more than once. He even had a faint tan line from it.

 

"Yeah, people suck sometimes..." he said, trying to sound positive, "...But...don't let that stop you from meeting new people. Some people just have...a lot of personal things going on. Most of us are decent." he said, dropping both hands, focusing back on Sean, "Like me."

 

Before Sean could respond, the sound of grinding breaks made the both of them turn, the soft crunch of massive wheels stopping just a few feet away putting a pause on anything else.

 

"There we go." Ted said, rocking forward and onto his feet. He gingerly dusted off the back of his pants before turning to Sean a beat later, and offered him a hand up.

 

He weakly smiled, and waved his hand away. "I'm good, thanks."

 

"You sure?" he asked, face looking hopeful.

 

Sean paused, looking at the hand for a moment. He really didn't care to take this person's hand, not especially since he had no idea if his lifeless skin underneath would give away just how cold his body had gotten, and if that could possibly raise suspicion or not. But, on the other hand, if he didn't take his offer, would that ruin their imaginary budding friendship?

 

Biting his tongue, Sean put his gloved hand in the others and stood, nodding as he straightened out. As he did, he felt that same blue fire dart right up his arm, and rattle something around in his head. Something familiar but something strange, like a dead memory, dust from death sifting and kicking up in dovetail winds. Probably from the last time, he figured. More of whatever Ted really is seeping out in slight ways.

 

Ted grinned, just a little brighter, before turning to the bus, with his transpass in hand. He swiped the little blue card near the driver as he called over his shoulder. "You _do_ have a fare tonight, right?"

 

Reluctantly, he slid his hand into the front of his hoodie, and felt the crumpled bills and coins rolling around in his pocket, bits of debris from earlier that day sticking to the fleece inside. His fingers toyed with the edges of paper, dog-eared and dirty, as flashes of those boys faces, painted with terror, stared at him through the memory, boring holes into his already guilt-ridden mind.

 

"Yeah." he said, stepping up, sliding $2.50 in, "I remembered tonight."

 

"Good!" Ted said, walking toward a set in the back of the nearly-empty bus, "Fixed the hole in your pocket, huh?"

 

"Sure did." Sean said, as facetiously cheerful as he could. He sat next to where Ted stopped, leaving what little room he could between them.

 

"Well...not like it would of mattered, but...I actually brought along a few tokens, just in case." he said, leaning back as the bus rolled forward, "I mean...I felt bad just kind of leaving you there last night."

 

"Oh...uh, thanks."

 

"How _did_ you get home, anyway?" he asked, a hint of concern lingering.

 

"I walked."

 

"You _walked_?" he asked, amazed, "Didn't you say you lived--"

 

"Mostly. Mostly walked." he said, forgetting that most normal people don't trek for hours alone at night, "I saw a police cruiser at some point, and he was nice enough to take me the rest of the way."

 

"Do cops even _do_ that?"

 

"This one did." Even as he said it, he was fairly sure that the police don't normally act as an after-hours taxi to random pedestrians. The other didn't seem to mind or question it though, so he went with it.

 

Ted seemed to think for a moment as he tucked a blonde lock behind his ear. His eyes drifted over to the window, with it's pale lights streaming by, streaks of color highlighting the scratched windows, before turning back to Sean. "I'm glad."

 

The ride was fairly simple and innocuous. Throughout the nearly hour long ride, Sean found out all sorts of things about Ted, from his love of hot sauce, to his dislike of TV, to his preferred boot size. None of it was important though, and none of it was helping him any, and after each response, Sean would feel a small pang of defeat, not finding any of the answers he wanted. More often than not though, he noticed, Ted had a habit of turning the questions back on him, asking little things and details about his life, trying to absorb as much as Sean would give him. In a way, it was almost as if _he_ was being subtly interrogated, and not the other way around. Nearly none of what Sean had told him had any truth to it, though, he wouldn't dare. Once he found out what he needed, he'd probably never see him again anyway.

 

Sean saw the streetlights begin to thin out from the tawny streaks of light passing by, each one looking like a faded torch between questions, and knew that they must be getting close to the end of the line. As he sat, he briefly thought about just asking Ted outright if he was some _thing_ like he was, or if he had his hands in magic or 'counseling', as bizarre and inexplicable as any of that would of sounded. At the very least, he thought, it might lead to some interesting bits of conversation. He really couldn't do it though, not especially if he didn't want to explain any of it. He knew better.

 

"So...you said you had two jobs?" Sean asked, circling back on the beginning of the conversation. He was running out of the usual mundane first-meeting things to say. Maybe he was overlooking something.

 

"Yeah. I do stock over at the Holiday near Bennett Plaza, and I'm a waiter over at the Gallows on the waterfront." He pointed to the undone bowtie around his neck. "Can't you tell?" he said, smiling.

 

"Just thought you were a dapper fellow." he said, partially returning the grin, "Do you like it? I mean, both jobs. Do you like them?"

 

"Eh...they're jobs, y'know? They pay the bills, and keep me busy."

 

"Busy, huh?"

 

"Yeah. I kinda _need_ to keep busy."

 

"Sounds hard."

 

"Nah. I mean... I used to work a lot more. I'd pull in nearly 80 hours in any given week."

 

"Used to?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Not anymore? Why not?"

 

Ted seemed to physically stutter on the question, but he still kept an open face. "I just...don't."

 

"Did something happen?" Sean continued. He knew asking it might be stepping into personal territory, but, maybe this was it?

 

"I just _don't_." he said slightly hard and flat, "So I asked to have my hours cut."

 

A few notes of silence passed. "Sorry, Jay."

 

"It's fine." Sean said, feigning nonchalance, "No harm done."

 

"Yeah, yeah." he said, echoing Sean, face picking up again, "No harm done."

 

The bus rounded the corner and stopped, sagging ever so slightly to the ground once the hydraulics were put to rest. The two or three other people still left all filed out in quiet, miserable silence, the smell of late-night fast food and human brine leaving with them. A paper cup was kicked to the side before the driver stood, his greying horseshoe head thick with static, as he waved with a condescending grand gesture, sweeping his arm out to the front doors, indicating that it was time to go. They didn't need to be told twice.

 

Once off, Ted turned to Sean. "Which way you going?"

 

"Ah...a bit that way." he said, waving off to the left. He had no idea if 'that way' even had houses in that direction.

 

"That's a shame." he said, almost sounding like he had really meant it, "I'm about a mile in almost the opposite direction."

 

"Well...not like we won't see each other again tomorrow night, right?" Sean said, maybe a little too optimistically. He'd follow him home right now if he could. Maybe he _would_ , he thought, if Ted was a slow enough walker. Not like he couldn't track that smell of his from a decent enough distance...

 

"That's true." Ted said, smiling again, "Same time, same place?"

 

"You know it."

 

"Awesome, man. I'll see you then!"

 

Sean watched as he went, that same confident stride he had before moving himself deeper into the unknown spaces between the whiskey colored streetlamps and stygian blues of the night. When the shadows of the buildings beyond the bus terminal had taken Ted, Sean started to follow, slowly, but within range of that heavy, tarry perfume.

 

As he went, Sean looked outside of himself. Here he was, in the nearly suburban part of town, dead and alone, riding an ocean of lies, stalking an almost stranger in the dark through the streets and shaded corridors. Why? What was he even doing? And what would he do when he got there? Stare at him through an open window? Jot down little notes about his home life like a private investigator? Break down Ted's front door, pin him to his sofa, snarl in his face and drill him about being vampire repellant? No. That one went _hideously_ too far, even in the furthest of worst-case scenarios. But, then again, is he really so removed from that anymore?

 

He remembered crawling on the forest floor, picking up the money that still sat heavy in his pockets, coins rattling around like sour bells with each step he took. He remembered how they smelled, those children, that wonderful redolent fried smell, salty, tangy and all too attractive. He remembered his eyes clouding over, the essence of himself teetering on the knifes edge of something instinctual and primal, a thundering thrill within his veins that almost sent shivers of giddiness curling up through his body and ebbing out of his lips.

 

He grimaced. That wasn't him. It wasn't. That was...something else. Something ruthless and ugly. But not him. Wasn't it?

 

It was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. A mistake which, he promised himself he would never make again, even if it put him in the ground for the second time. He was strong enough. He could do it. He _would_ do it.

 

So what was he doing now?

 

Sean stopped on the thought. He looked ahead, and could still see the slight silhouette of Ted in the distance, flashes of canary painting him in hues of amber. How far was he willing to go? Where was all this taking him? And once he got what he needed, what then?

 

Sean suddenly felt his eyes slip closed, a halo of black blurring his vision as he stumbled to the side, barely staying upright. He caught himself with his forearm on the brick and mortar building next to him, gloved hands making fists, as his head fell low, straining with whatever he had to not fall down. He felt lightheaded and faint, his shoes like overfilled baskets, as it seemed like everything inside him sagged to the ground in those brief moments.

 

As it passed, he stood straight again, that same angry stab shooting up from the pit of his stomach, concentrated butane bubbling up, lapping at the base of his mouth. A wave of sick flushed through his body as things settled, harshly reminding him that he needed something more than just pure will to survive at this point.

 

He was hungry. Very hungry. And it was beginning to make him unsteady.

 

And he had no real way of fixing it, other than...

 

His eyes fell on someone across the street on their doorstep, smoking a cigarette. The smell of fresh popcorn tickled his nose, as he could hear the faint but steady thudding of a heartbeat call to him like an addict to the spoon.

 

No. Absolutely not. 

 

"Fuck..." Sean spat, tipping the glasses up, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was going to need...something. And soon.

 

He breathed in, deep. But the scent wasn't there anymore. He picked his head up, and readjusted his eyes.

 

Ted was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life got kinda busy last month. That, and writing the "Ted" chapters are harder to do, for some strange reason. When all is said and done though, I hope waiting on me and it will be worth it though. The support for this has been fantastic recently, and I thank you all for it. :) 
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from a Grave Pleasures song of the same name. Go give it a listen.


	16. Death Eternal

It was in the soft fade of the evening, but she was still just as alert and awake as ever. Throughout the day, she had spent her time doing anything to distract herself, from browsing the video store, to cleaning out a closet or two, to just sitting aimlessly in the park, staring at dogs. It kept her occupied for the most part, but when he mind would tire and begin to wander, it would always circle around the same thing, like a scavenger to carrion.

 

Her eyes drifted from the screen in front of her to the manila folder just on the edge of the coffee table. Her cell was just an inch away from that. She turned her head away from both. Not tonight. It was her day off. She could wait. Right?

 

The figures on the TV pantomimed their lines, stood on their markers, and made due with the almost foreign sounding dialogue. One of them touched a switch on the wall, and the floor gave way, leading down to a large, windowless, unlit room. A match is struck, and before the main character stood an imposing tombstone with is name etched on the front.

 

She reached for her phone a second later.

 

"Seriously?" she heard, from across the line.

 

"What? Is that any way to greet a coworker?"

 

"When it's near dinnertime on my day off? Absolutely. What's up, Bern? Why ya callin'?"

 

"Have you read the case file?" she asked, tossing a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

 

"Which one? We have like...4 or 5 we're working on."

 

"The McLoughlin murder."

 

Judd audibly sighed on the other side.

 

"...No. I haven't read it personally. Got the cliffs notes on it though. Why?"

 

Bernadette sat up straighter on the plush corduroy couch she was on, tucking her feet under as she adjusted the cell tucked between her neck and cheek. She slapped the mute button on the remote with her one hand as she grabbed the manila folder with the other, barely keeping the balancing act coordinated. She popped open the file, thumbing past the first 10 pages or so, until she found the neon green sticky note she had stuck on the coroners report.

 

"Did Ken ever tell you who...a LeeAnn Lepczyk was?"

 

"No..." Judd said, reluctantly, "...but isn't there a Lepczyk funeral home like, a couple of blocks from the station?"

 

"Is there?" she asked, almost as if she was getting hit with new information.

 

"Yeah. I'm like, 99% sure there is. It's the building with the big front porch. Right near the bar with the tiki lights on it."

 

"Oh..." she said, deflating a little, "...I think I remember now. That's the bar where Vanessa had her bachelorette party a while back."

 

The line went silent.

 

"So...?" he asked.

 

"So...so _what_?"

 

"Is that all you wanted to know?"

 

"I...guess. I mean, it's the only one I have at the moment."

 

Judd chuckled. "And that couldn't wait until Monday?"

 

"Well...no. What if it was something important?"

 

"Bern...an unsolved case isn't going to magically crack just because an officer knew how to _read_. Relax. Take a nap. I still don't know why you're letting yourself get caught up in all of it."

 

"You don't find any of it _weird_?" she asked, almost annoyed, "A Murder, a theft, and--"

 

"Bern."

 

"What?"

 

"It's meatloaf night. Can I please enjoy it with my wife and kids? Can you please put... _whatever_ this is on hold for a little while?"

 

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Go eat your meat brick. Tell Marie I said hi."

 

"There ya go. And Bern?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Take up a hobby. Please?"

 

Her mouth formed a wide, flat line. "Ass."

 

She ended the call and tossed her phone to the other end of the couch. She knew she was letting it get to her, and she was even more mad that she had no idea why. But, she couldn't shake it...that certain something that kept bringing her back to it for whatever reason. Nothing actually _seemed_ out of place, but it somehow felt that way, almost as if there was some magic thread leading her back to everything, asking her to look again, asking her to turn over that last stone.

 

She checked the clock. She knew that if she didn't do something about it now, then she would probably pick at it all night long. All she needed to do was get changed, grab her keys, and _go_. Go...where, though? Back to Fischbach? Back to his apartment? And do what, then?

 

It went against protocol, but nobody would have to know...right? Just take a quick peek around to satisfy her mind for the night, maybe ask a few more questions, and then come home and finish up "Captain Peety and the Vampire Queen". Simple. Easy. A bit outside the law, but...

 

She stood from the couch and darted to her bedroom without a second thought.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

If he had known last night how long it would actually take him to walk from the end of the bus line back to the original stop, Sean would of tried to hitch a ride somehow, or at the very least, tried to panhandle for a retuning fare. As it was, he only had enough for another ride, and he didn't want to squander it on convenience...or so he thought.

 

During the nearly two and a half hours walk, he passed by so many things...things that made his mouth salivate and his gut churn in desperate anticipation. It was getting to the point where he was starting to catch the scent of others through more objects now, like passing cars and distant windows, so each step he took was like walking into a bouquet of edible fantasies - sweets on his right, savories on his left, and an endless banquet of palatable jewels just ahead of him. And, as hard as he tried to fight against it, those smells brought on more lapses of stability, more floating fits of near fainting, each one of the few coming up a bit more unyielding and with more bite.

 

With that, parts of him began to shake, like the last quivering breath of a starling seized with mortality if he didn't conscientiously lock himself down until the feeling had passed. To others, he imagined, he must of looked like an addict; shivering, gaunt, and tired, walking around squaring his jaw at will, and always with a pair of shades on, regardless of what time it actually was.

 

In a way, he welcomed it...welcomed the fits of torment, the subtle essence of suffering. Part of him felt like he deserved it, deserved to be treated like less than a man, like the outcast he was. He was a monster...a being that drained the life out of others for their own survival. He didn't ask for it, and he didn't want it, but it was who he was now, nonetheless. The least he could do, he felt, was to slowly ride out the unpleasantness, as if he could serve penance for some unknown original sin cast upon him.

 

But Ted...oh, Ted. Ted was different though. Ted was still the only other person who repelled him, made him sick to his core if he breathed in too deep. If he could just figure out why...if he could just figure out what made him so unlike everyone else, then Sean reasoned that he could cage his inner demon and live a somewhat normal life. As normal as it could possibly be, anyway...as far fetched as the idea seemed to be. For a moment, he imagined having that, having that key, and going home to Mark again. Arm in arm with one another, the warmth from his skin and the feel of his shirt against his face, the soft low voice telling him that he loved him, and the smell, _his_ smell...

 

...that faint woody smell...

 

...of cinnamon...

 

...and sugar...

 

...and deep, rich frosting...

 

Sean froze. He felt a drop of wetness fall to his hand. He looked down, and saw a thin string going from the back of his wrist to his mouth. He stiffened, and shoved his hands further back into the gloves that had started to slide down, moving his fingers immediately to his lips.

 

Fangs. Not fully distended, but far enough that it didn't look normal. He hastily ran his sleeve across his mouth, wiping away any of the residual fluid.

 

And then he looked down. A smear of color, pale and peachy, greeted him back. Makeup. _His_ makeup.

 

"Shit...!" he muttered, realizing what he had just done. He didn't know exactly how much he had botched, but from the look of it, it was probably enough to notice. Sean's head darted from side to side, trying to find a reflective surface of some kind, so he could assess the damage. He stood, eyeing a crumpled silver soda can just a few steps away. He figured if he could get it, and break it open, the aluminum inside combined with the streetlight above angled _just_ right might help him out a little. It was better than nothing, which is what he currently had.

 

As he bent down, he noticed a familiar pair of black shoes come right up to his hand.

 

"Collecting cans, Jay?" he heard, just above his head.

 

Sean blinked, unmoving.

 

"Man, that hole in your pocket wrecked havoc, huh? Those things only get you, what, $.05 a pop if you're lucky. You're be better off pretending to be homeless. Heh."

 

Sean slowly straightened, can in hand, with his head pointed toward his chest. He took the metallic trash and turned it over, as if he were considering something more than how to get out of the situation he currently found himself in.

 

"Not really..." he said, still shoegazing, "...I'm...kind of...an environmentalist, I guess you could say. Just...makes me sad someone would just...throw this on the ground." Even as he said it, he knew it sounded a little strange.

 

Ted snorted.

 

"I can see. You're staring at that thing like it has power over you or something."

 

"They could of...recycled this. Y'know...I think I'll do that for them. There's a bin over--"

 

"Jay."

 

"Maybe not even recycle it. Re-use it for something. Go get some string, and--"

 

"Jay."

 

"Actually, I think I remember one of those elementary schools needing cans for something. I can just--"

 

" _Jay_."

 

"Mmm?"

 

"It's just a can, dude."

 

"I know. But--"

 

"Just stick it in your pocket if it means that much to you. The bus is going to be here any minute. You don't wanna have to _walk_ home all over again, do ya?"

 

Sean thought about it. On one hand, it would of been an easy out. Claim fanaticism for the planet in a weird oblong frenzy and dash away, keeping his secret a secret, and maybe even scooping up a few plastic bags along the way to punctuate his point. But, on the other hand, he still didn't know what made Ted tick, and that was something he really needed to know, and as soon as possible. He turned the can over in his hand again, carefully, as if he was legitimately trying to study the nutritional content label, the street mud and asphalt skids making the little black box nothing more than a bunch of garbled letters and numbers. As he did, he caught sight of his sleeve again, smudged and dirty, a flesh colored stripe standing out the darker tone of his hoodie.

 

Slowly, the thought came to him. Maybe this is what he needed. Maybe _this_ was the answer all along. Show Ted...actually _show_ Ted part of who he really was, and maybe...

 

Maybe...what?

 

Maybe Ted recognizes what he is? Or mistakes him for one of his own? Or maybe a ball of ribbons will drop from the sky, and all the secrets of being dead alive come to him in a glorious dark beam of light?

 

It was a complete risk, at best. He knew that. At worst, he could only imagine what could happen...anything from avoidant disgust, to the other trying to paw off the rest of his makeup, to the idea that Ted was actually totally normal in every way and seeing corpse flesh might have an irreversible impact on him...one that could go from panic, to horror to any form of chaotic in between. But he didn't really have any other way out of the situation, aside from acting like a total idiot, as appealing as the option was at this point.

 

Sean closed his eyes. His head felt heavy and full of mud, waves of cold pain darting through the back of his skull to the tips of his lashes. He bit the inside of his mouth, as steady as he could imagine and hard enough to distract himself from the rimy soup brewing in his head. Was he really thinking this through? Was _this_ really the best he could come up with? Or was that other part of himself starting to take over in little ways, small little adjustments here and there, until not even he could tell them apart anymore?

 

Was he starting to lose his mind?

 

"Jay...you alright? You're acting... _weird_. Was it something I said?" Ted asked, taking a step forward, brows pushed together, bending a little as he spoke.

 

"No, no! I just..."

 

"Just...?"

 

Sean took in a useless breath, letting the cool air fill his body, his own skin matching the seasonal chill. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure he didn't have anything else to explain.

 

With care, he gradually picked up his head, letting the amber streetlight above roll over his face, it's golden glow highlighting his mannequinned features until he came eye to eye with Ted. He looked at him through his tinted lenses, not saying a word.

 

Ted's face went flat.

 

"Oh..." he started, looking down at Sean's mouth.

 

Sean didn't move.

 

"Heh...Mr. Grapey pops, right?" he said, cracking a smile.

 

"Mr...? _What_?"

 

"Yeah...Mr. Grapey! You know, those big popsicles that come in the neon colored boxes. You just had one, right? They're good, but man, do they stain!"

 

"Uh..." He stammered, trying to find his mental footing again. Did he not see? Or did he just not care? Maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought...or maybe Ted was just colorblind. In any case, he was more than happy to have at least a small sense of relief, given the circumstances.

 

"I guess you knew that though, right?" He stated, gesturing toward his own mouth.

 

"Y-yeah..." he said, not really knowing how else to react.

 

"I'd give you a napkin or something if I had it..." Ted said, patting his pockets, trailing. But the sound of four heavy tires coming up behind them cut off the rest of his thought.

 

Moments later, they were on, and heading toward the end of the line. More chatter. More benign conversation. At this point, Sean had asked him everything he could think of, even dipping into stuff that had nothing to do with any of it, from the few bits of sports trivia either one of them knew to the downright ridiculous, like what color tie Lincoln would of worn if he went to a costume party. He was stretching what he could of what he knew, but even then, it turned into the same mundane kind of talk that any other person on the planet could of said.

 

Sean rested his head on the back of the seat in front of him. This was going absolutely nowhere. Could he have done something better? Did he do something wrong? Would it of been better if he had set out somewhere, and tried to find Thomas, as dubious as that would of been? He didn't have anything to go on with that other than the vaguest of hints that he was going somewhere cold...maybe somewhere in Europe. But, even then, how would he get there? And how would he even _begin_ to track down one lone person, that he had never even met before, on a continent of millions? Was this...was _everything_ a mistake?

 

He stared at the wad of gum just inches from his nose, fighting off the halo of black that was slowly starting to creep into his line of sight. He felt the slight ripple of a false chill working its way down from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers, pinpricks of withdrawal numbing his already dead skin, a prelude to the nauseating shudders that were going to follow. He breathed in, as much as his lungs would allow, trying to take in all of the tainted air that Ted had surrounding himself.

 

"Tired, huh?" he said, as if he already knew the answer.

 

"Mmm?" Sean said, letting the scent of acrid oil hit the back of his mouth like a panacea. Already he could feel the wave of subtle relief wash through him like warm milk.

 

"It's cool." Ted said, leaning back in his seat, "I know I talk a lot sometimes. If you want to take a nap, that's fine. We still have a ways to go."

 

As he said it, his hand gently rubbed Sean's back, up by his neck. All at once that same blue fire shot straight through anything else he was feeling, a rush of blinding alarm striking him like a brick to his head. His skin twitched, almost rejecting the touch, followed immediately by the sensation that he should run, but he didn't know why.

 

Maybe that was it? Maybe whatever Ted was, was anti-vampire?

 

Vampire. He still couldn't believe he was using the word. And anti-vampire...what the hell could that even be? A living embodiment of garlic? Sunlight in corporeal form? A...giant, walking, talking wooden stake?

 

Ridiculous.

 

Sean's train of thought was suddenly cut off with a solid bump. At first he thought he was feeling things, but then he felt whatever it was move, rolling across the top of his hoodie smacking into the window a moment later. As he slowly lifted his head, he was met face to face with giant rolls of...paper. Each long tube speckled in a myriad of color, loud and gaudy, in a variety of patterns and design styles.

 

"Hey...apologize." he heard Ted say. Sean turned and saw the other with folded arms, staring forward.

 

When nothing had happened, he said it again, with more inflection. " **Hey**. _Apologize_."

 

The person looked from side to side, as if it were trying to place the sound. It turned, head barely above the low seat top.

 

"Me?" he said, almost confused.

 

"Yes. _You_." Ted said, voice falling flat, "Apologize."

 

"For what?" he asked, as if he was being accused.

 

Ted sat forward, as if it were a challenge he was being presented with, face beginning to harden. "For hitting my friend."

 

"When did I do that?" he sputtered, bewildered.

 

"Ted, it's alright. You--" Sean tried.

 

"No." He said, an edge gaining momentum in his words, "He's _going_ to _apologize_."

 

Sean couldn't help but stare at Ted then. There was an almost tangible aura of aggression coming off of him, one that felt hot and ready to attack, like a powerful animal, cornered, but with the clear upper hand. Somewhere inside Sean's chest, he could feel an instinctual fear rise up, as if it were being injected into his thighs, welling up with a mercurial deftness, that same feeling of wanting to run making his muscles brittle and his neck stiffen to stone.

 

Was this _it_? Was this who he was? If this went on, would he see it? Would he see Ted's true nature?

 

The air was ripe with something heavy, something oppressive and something dark. And it all felt like it was coming off of Ted in rolling curls of smoke, like a sudden poison fog rolling in, that same near calming stench he had now boiling over into something toxic and suffocating, making Sean's throat constrict from the new growing embers taking root there. Sean swallowed, as best as he could, and looked on, almost dazed.

 

Was this what lied beneath? Something terrible, something ominous, something forceful...was _this_  what he really wanted?

 

Was this...such a good idea anymore?

 

The man looked between Ted and Sean, then around at the rest of the bus, as if he was on an ill thought out reality TV show, getting pranked. His eyes fell on the rolls of paper a moment later, and the realization washed through him just as fast.

 

"Oh...Oh! Hey, I'm sorry. Thought I had a better hold on these things..." he said, reaching over, readjusting the tubes, shaking his head, "...Late nights get to me. Again, sorry."

 

Ted leaned back, arms still crossed, but seemingly satisfied with everything that just happened. A moment later, he turned to Sean, half a smirk on his face.

 

All at once, the atmosphere changed, light switched in nature, going from bad to benign in a matter of seconds, as if all the feeling had been vacuumed out, leaving behind nothing save for the plain flatness of the bus and Ted's same fixed scent, no longer threatening to smother Sean's undead life within.

 

He blinked behind his lenses, the whiplash of things surrounding him unsettling something deep and primal. He still couldn't tell what that was, whatever it was, just that it felt like there was now a tiny, sprouting weed within his chest, one that whispered to him in tones nearly unheard, but still felt. Ted, for all his kindness up until this point, definitely had something else to him. A potentially _dangerous_ something.

 

Sean softly cleared his throat, still shaking things off. As he did, he winced, the slightly raw feeling extending down past his shoulders, into his ribs. He gently touched his gloved hand to his neck, in a vain attempt to soothe it. Even the skin there felt chafed red, especially the permanent ring just below his Adam's apple.

 

He put his head back down on the seat in front of him for the rest of the ride. Sticking around Ted definitely had a footnote to it now, one that Sean had to be sure to remember. There was something much deeper to all of this than he had realized, something he had no idea what to do with or how to handle. But, despite how it all made him feel, he knew he had to keep the course. He didn't have much of a choice at this point.

 

That wasn't entirely true, he knew. He could just give in. Give in to the need that his undead shell so desperately craved. He could do it. He could take out this whole bus. Drink them dry, savor in their flavors, feel his whole body flood with the heat from their blood, that unquenchable lust assuaged on their coppery souls, writhing with life beneath his skin, drop by drop, filling him with deep red love...

 

Sean felt something graze the top of his lips and stopped cold. There they were again...a set of sabers itching to come out and pierce the closest thing with a heartbeat. His eyes widened. What was he doing? Where did any of that come from?

 

"Oh God..." he whispered, screwing his eyes shut, fighting the tides of confusing thoughts flashing through his mind. Sean's hand darted to his arm, pinching the skin underneath his sleeve, leaving two little marks from where his nails dug in. He did it again and again, telling himself _no_ each time. No. No he would not. Stop it. _Stop it._

 _  
_ His stomach flipped, angry that it was denied again. Nausea fluttered in on it's coattails, that same gut-punch feeling constricting everything from his hips to his throat.

 

Another deep inhale of that hideous scent, and soon it bled from him, leaving nothing but that near nervous tick that told him who that unctuous perfume belonged to.

 

Soon enough, they came to the end of the line, the bus rolling to its last stop on wheels that were in need of oil, the people inside filing out in languid plods, nobody seeming to be in any real rush. As usual, they were the last to leave, just behind that same short man with the giant rolls of paper.

 

"Well, we're here." Ted said, looking back at the terminal for a second before turning back to Sean, "Headed home?"

 

Sean nodded. To be perfectly honest, with how he was feeling, he didn't know how far he was going to be able to walk tonight, let alone make it back to wherever "home" was for the remainder of it. Sitting out among the trees seemed to be working out so far, but out here in the pseudo suburbs, there really wasn't any such place for him to go.

 

"You seem _really_ tired, man. Want me to walk with you?"

 

"No. I'm fine. But thanks."

 

"You sure? You wouldn't be putting me out or anything. I'm a strong boy. I can handle an extra walk." he joked.

 

"No, really. I'm good. I just...need to eat, is all." he said, a bitter taste pricking the tip of his tongue.

 

"Gotcha. Well...tomorrow I wont be coming on the same bus, just so you know. I'll be out for the day. But...I only have one shift the day after..." he said looking off for a second before looking back, almost as if he needed a moment to consider, "...Do you want to hang then? Theres this little bar just down the street from where I work that always has good stuff on tap." Ted looked on with a face of genuine friendship, the corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly.

 

Sean considered it, as best as he could through all the swimming things his head had to contend with. On one hand, having Ted in a public setting where alcohol is involved might tell him something his normal self wouldn't. And, who knows, maybe he might even see _it_. With enough people around, and enough space, even something like him had a chance to run should the occasion arise. But on the other hand...if Ted left him alone for a moment, could he handle it? All those bodies, all that lowered inhibition...

 

No.

 

 _No_.

 

"Sounds good, man." Sean said, almost in defiance of himself. Fuck whatever the other part of him wanted. He had control of himself. He'd prove it.

 

"Great! The place is called Feeny's, by the way. If you're walking from the pier, it's 2 or 3 city blocks down from that, on Carver street. They have a big ass lawn gnome painted up to look like the Statue of Liberty sitting out front. Kinda hard to miss." he said, with a smirk. "Lets say...6:30-7 o'clock?"

 

"I'll be there!" he said, with feigned enthusiasm. And he would be. Come hell or high water.

 

Ted leaned in, and gave Sean a hug. It was short and brisk, and teetering ever so slightly on awkward from Sean's part, mostly because he wasn't expecting it and almost smacked face first into his collarbone. Still that same shrill cerulean flame shot through him, like every time Ted touched him, every bit of his insides lit up with alarm and repugnance.

 

Sean waved as Ted went, fake semi smile selling the point more than words could. As soon as the other turned the corner, he dropped everything, including his shoulders, letting the weight of his exhaustion rest wherever it might lie.

 

He had time, at least. Enough time to make it to wherever he was headed tonight, and enough time to shuffle his way over to the waterfront before he was expected to be there. So if anything, he didn't have to push himself to be anywhere for the next day. And for that, he was at least mildly grateful.

 

Still, part of him wanted to just break every self imposed rule and try to follow Ted home again. Maybe tonight he'd actually make it if he followed him home close enough and kept on breathing in fully, letting his industrial leftover musk fill his lungs every time he felt weak to the rhythm of life surrounding him. And then...

 

Then... _what_? He still had no idea.

 

And he couldn't even imagine any reasoning to it. His head just simply wouldn't let him. It was too filled with pain and sick to let anything come together.

 

Without thought, he started to walk, in the opposite direction of Ted, hands in his pockets, and a slight sense of dizziness dancing just on the corners of his consciousness. His pace was slow, but still coordinated, and to anyone else looking on, he must of just looked like some moody teenager, walking alone at night, too cool to even look anyone in the eye. It was better that way, he thought. The less he interacted with people, the less he could smell them. And the less he could smell them, the less he had the desire to kill them.

 

He didn't actually _want_ to kill them, though. Just gorge on the wine of life that pulsed throughout their bodies. That dulcet elixir, that toasty avarice...the same Bordeaux that he denied himself as often as he longed for it. If there was only some way he could get what he needed without murdering another person...

 

His mind drifted over the possibilities. If he really didn't want to kill them, he could always go after someone that was already dead. But, where to find them? Cemeteries were his first thought. They were, quite literally, full of them. Just...go in after midnight, dig up a body, crack the casket, and have his fill. It would be especially easy, he thought, if he could find a freshly dug plot. The earth would still be loose, and nobody would even notice if he went back for seconds the following night, if there were any to be had.

 

No. He couldn't. Even as an idea, it made him feel dirty. And logistically it wouldn't work either. Nobody was interred without embalming these days, so even if he went through with it, even if he fought his better self and actually unearthed a corpse and tried to kiss their wrists, he would only get mouthfuls of that same disgusting death cocktail that he himself was purging just moments out of the grave.

 

He flinched at the idea. He could still remember ripping the wire out of his mouth, just in time to hear the splashing on the grass, and the smell of paint thinner following on its heels. And the taste was not something he ever wanted to experience again.

 

Maybe not people, he thought.

 

Dead animals were surely easier to get than a dead person was. And there were cars everywhere that could facilitate his need. He _was_ in a city, after all. Find the local street pizza, run his tongue over what was left, bite into the parts that were still viable...

 

The memory of his first and only meal came trailing in, that fat gray squirrel that punched a hole in his hand before he accidentally slammed it against the wall. Pumpkin...certainly didn't _taste_ like a pumpkin. More like a can of beans. Cheap, tomato tinted pintos, with a dash from the spice rack to make it more palatable. And as much as he didn't really care from them when he was alive, those were the best damn beans he had ever had. Sweet, a little salty, a little tinny, and warm...

 

Sean stopped suddenly. His stomach contracted hard, taking out his knees.

 

All that was left of him was focused there, in curling coils knotting over and over again, like dueling snakes, twisting, turning, painfully squeezing. With one hand, he tried to shakily support himself, arm shivering against his slight weight as the other gripped below his ribs in vain, the sudden and heavily intense darts of pain arching from middle to end, nearly making him blind. He felt as if he was suffocating, on air that had never meant anything to him before, ghostly hands gripping that last tangible piece of himself, pushing him down, nose to the ground, smothering him with impermeable force. His whole body shuddered, and, with one violent heave, he spat up something black and watery.

 

Sean collapsed to his side, still involuntarily moving, eyes unfocused and hazy. His fangs were out, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't himself right now. He felt as if he wasn't even in his own body, but somehow looking in. Trails of fluid ran down past his teeth, running down his jaw, and pooling down near his ear. Listlessly, he brought a twitching hand up to his mouth, and gently touched his lips, the leather from his gloves almost sticking.

 

Blood. Dark, dark blood.

And somehow he knew, it was _his_ blood.

 

Numbly, he worked himself to stand up, muscles still jumping, still frigidly moving but still functioning, almost as if someone else were doing it for him. His face was still, and his gaze was blank, as blank as it had ever been before. Not a thing running through his head, and not a thing to even be read on his face.

 

He started to walk, seemingly as if he knew where he was going. It was something quicker than what he normally did, but not quite running, the top half of himself dragging his legs along to go faster. It looked as if he was being pulled along by rope, almost as if he were being puppeted to just _go,_ ignoring anything else in his path, trip walking over plastic bags and not even looking at the streets he was crossing.

 

Moments later, he was in front of a row of stores, their colored paint and vintage wooden signs clearly marking out something akin to a suburban strip mall. It was small, but well kept, and almost looked something reminiscent of Main Street from Disneyland. A sharp, drawn out breath at the head of the block, and his eyes honed in on the corner, with its bright fire engine red trimmings and gold-gilded letters.

 

"DesOrmeaux Meats"

 

He stared at the bouncy pink pig on the front window, it's porcine belly too large for it's tiny legs, its face too cartoonishly happy to know what it was advertising.

 

 _Smash it._ He heard, like a whisper, on a voice that wasn't really there.

 

He lunged for the window, almost on command, fists wildly smacking against the glass, the muted thud of skin on thick panes echoing into the hollow of the store. He wasn't strong enough to break it on his own, at least, not now, given how weak he was. But the drive was there. A drive like one he had never known. Something so primary, so elemental, and yet, something that he could feel held an awful power.  _Smash it. Smash it. Smash it._

 

He needed something, anything, to help satisfy his resolve. His head flicked around, hood tapping the sides of his cheeks, looking for what he could use. The streets, like the stores around them, were unhelpfully clean and devoid of any urban grit, save for a smattering of cigarette butts here and there. In the distance, as the passing overcast pulled back and moonlight hit it, a metal trashcan across the street caught his eye. A small smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

 

Sean yanked it from it's lightpole, the plastic loops holding it in place falling away as if they were never even there. He dragged it across the road, that same lurching gait leading the way, the sound of scraping metal on asphalt decorating the otherwise sullen sounds of silent plastic models and sleeping halogen lights. Without stopping, he flung the black barrel at the window, with as much heft as he could give it.

 

It bounced off the thick glass, and rolled to the side. He grabbed it again, with the force of something untamed and lawless, scowling as he heaved it again at the smiling pig and it's paradise of malformed bodies beyond. Another bounce and roll, with only a faint scratch to show. Another throw, without pause, tailed shortly by a gruff yell. The pig remained.

 

His top half led the way again, dragging him just a few paces beyond the front door to the backside of the building. That same red paint decorated the sole door, the worn metal underneath barely masked by the thick primer.

 

He didn't even need to be told before throwing himself at it, that indiscernible power moving him with force, aged locks rattling around with each thrust from his shoulders, the door itself giving way little by little with every reckless slam. Sean couldn't feel a thing, not the chips of painted rust falling in his clouded eyes, not the blunt dents he was forcing into the stripped panel, and certainly not the frenzied bruises and maddened muscles forming just underneath his clothes. He was drooling at this point, streams of that same vampiric fluid dripping at a steady pace from his overgrown eyeteeth, all while the whispering remained, louder, more insistent and more driven... _SMASH SMASH SMASH_.

 

In a burst of splinters, like derelict confetti, the door gave in, and yawned wide into the dark store.

 

Sean stumbled in, but didn't settle on his small victory. He was yanked further in, lead on an ethereal leash, sneakers squeaking softly on the immaculate floors beneath, past the receiving room, past the front counter, and past all the toy display pieces behind the vinyl grass. His hands reached for it first, pawing at the door to the back room that lead to where the animals were kept, fingers groping in the black for a way to get inside. His palm hit a latch somewhere, and a handle popped out, the sound of the aluminum smacking back into place and the faint hiss from the accordion plastic surrounding it sounding like near music to his ears.

 

His leadened feet pushed forward, into the room unseen, hips smacking into low cabinets and the center island table. The scent was heavy in this room, the smell of stacked breads, some honeyed with the perfume of an early morning bake, others redolent with thick, buttery crusts. His already uncontrolled actions dove into near chaos at this point as his hands swiped at things with a reckless abandon, knives scattering, the clang of stainless bowls knocking into one another, reams of paper skidding across the floor. He was so close. So, so close...

 

_THERE._

 

A smaller door, but not unlike the first sat flush against the far wall, the notebook sized window leading in frosted over in ice. He threw himself on it, nearly breaking the handle with how hard he pulled on it, and shoved the door open, as far as it would go.

 

A cold steam filtered down through the blinking lights, the fluorescent blue coming to life the second the latch was moved. Carcasses of every size hung from the well-used hooks, blocks of legs, ribs and even a few heads in various stages of being cut were mutely perched on the slabs to the side. All of them seemingly were cleaned down to the bone, and all of them petrified into frozen bricks.

 

Except one.

 

On the right, was a deer corpse, it's broken off antlers tossed carelessly in the corner, it's matted, muddied fur still on it's body, pock marks from where the buck shot hit it's side still burned into it's flesh.

 

Sean couldn't control himself.

 

He lunged for it, rattled hands giving it's hindquarters a death grip, and sunk his mouth into the firming tissue underneath with a hasty, vicious bite. Two small beads of blood bubbled up to the surface, as his canines dug further in, filling the new cavities with froth, as the near rhapsodic feeling of ichor fell on to his lips and danced on the tip of his tongue. It felt so good, so, so good...

 

He went for another pull, the hollow from his cheeks eagerly anticipating the new viscid rush...

 

...only to return with nothing.

 

Something wasn't right.

 

He repositioned himself, and clamped down again, drawing in, body still too focused to realize he was digging his fingers into the dead deer, tawny fur ripping in small, half moon chasms.

 

Nothing.

 

Sean cautiously staggered back, still shaking, still vibrating, and looked on in disbelief. His opaque, sunless eyes trailed down his would-be victim's body, slightly swaying from the contact, distended tongue scraping gently on the bright, white tiles underneath. Two drops fell from it's open maw, and rolled down through the grout to the drain that was just a few inches away. The body, still tilting, still rocking, turned just a little more, and that's when he saw it...saw the slash from the butcher's cleaver run down the length of it's soft, white underbelly, the faintest shade of pink just curling around the seams. Sean reached out, and hesitantly peeled back some of the loose skin, expecting the worst, and just stared.

 

The inside was hollow. It had already been cleaned.

 

All at once, it felt as if his body was given back to him. Used, abused and battered, he collapsed under his own weight, stony skin slapping on the porcelain squares below, the ruthless frost all around him reaching to his core in mere moments. Weakly, he reached out, with violently trembling arms, and clawed his way over to the drain, clothes dragging, face smearing, leaving peachy streak marks on the otherwise unblemished floor. When he was close enough, he lifted his head with whatever was left of him, and ran his tongue down the tainted vein of grout, desperate for that one last trill, following it to the end, circling around the perforated silver plate.

 

Sean gave one last shudder, and laid on his side, defeated, hungry and cold. A wash of blackness fell through him, followed closely by the dulling tingle of numbness as his senses seemed to silence themselves for the first time since he came to be, all those many damnable nights ago. He was tired, so so tired. He let his eyes slip closed, as fruitless as that felt, and let it all consume him, riding the detached void that covered him like a blanket, covering himself in its sedative embrace.

 

Somewhere, a part of him wondered if he was dying again.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time, no see! :D
> 
> If I'm being honest, I'm not 100% satisfied with how this turned out, not content wise, but more for how it was written. But, I'm kind of itching to get this one out, so, my haste might come back to haunt me in the end. If, for whatever reason I do go back to change a few things here and there, aside from obvious grammar and spelling, I'll be sure to put a note at the start of whatever chapter that may be. But, I have a lot to put out, in only so many more chapters to go, so I really hope I'm not botching things. Only time will tell, right? 
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from a Calabrese song of the same name. Go give it a listen.
> 
> And, as always, comments/questions and the like are always greatly appreciated.  
> :D


	17. If Only Tonight We Could Sleep

Mark sat at his kitchen table, staring down the wood grain.

 

His head was in his hands, elbows on the table, his glasses long ago tossed to the side. So many things were going through his mind at that moment, so many things that he still had no answers to.

 

Sean. He was at the heart of it all. Where was he? Where did he go? Mark had let him walk out that first night. Not because he wanted to, but because neither one of them knew what to do. Sean was so insistent that he was a monster, that he was wretched in some way, and should be far from him and from everyone else, despite how much Mark had wanted him to stay. He knew he couldn't keep him though, not if he was hard-wired to leave, and not if he didn't want to be there.

 

But still. He couldn't let it lie like that. Not when he had just come back into his life, after having left it so abruptly just months before. Things were different now, so much more different from then.

 

Mark smeared his hands over his face as he righted himself in the chair. They really _were_ different, weren't they?

 

His eyes fell to the refrigerator just to his left. Pumpkin was in there. In two Ziploc bags and one heavy duty trash bag, just above the rotting Chinese food. When Sean had kissed him and then practically slammed the door in his face, he was left with the remains of that once living raisin of a mammal to deal with. Initially he buried it, like where all dead things go to lie, turning up whatever little grass he could underneath the tree the former squirrel liked to terrorize .He figured, it was the least he could do...put their once-adopted outside pet in a place where he could at least make it happy in the afterlife, given what probably happened to it. It only took a day for Mark to start to question his logic in that though. If humans could rise from the grave now, what would stop a rodent from doing the same? It was, all at once, the most inane but sound thought he had in all that time. Would he really want to deal with a rabid, undead fanged hellion in the middle of the night? All the birdseed in the world probably wouldn't be enough for it. Would _it_ want blood too?

 

Early the next day, after a semi sleepless night of ridiculous what-ifs, Mark dug it back up, and brought it back to his kitchen table. He stared at it, it's still shriveled form mutely pawing at the once clean towel he wrapped it in, and let it sit. For hours. He watched it for half a day before he even entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe, all the movies and old folklore he had seen and read about had it all wrong. Maybe vampirism _wasn't_ a disease, but a condition. He still couldn't be too sure, though. Not in times like these, where he wasn't even so sure of himself anymore. That's why it was there, on the top shelf, in as much of a cage as he could give it.

 

Mark let his head loll back, eyes unfocused on the light above. Different or not, Sean was out there, somewhere. And despite the time difference between then and now, he still didn't know what to do. If only he had some answers about...well, anything, maybe he could start to piece something together...

 

As he sat, one name popped up among all others. Thomas. That strange old man from the graveyard.

 

There were so many things he wanted to say to _him_. And even if he wasn't allowed to articulate his exact feelings, he was sure a square fist to the face might say otherwise. It was his fault any of this was even happening, right? At least, that's what he thought. He gave Mark the bag, turned Sean into a vampire somehow, and then disappeared without a word. There was the letter he left in the alleyway too, but as many times as he's looked at it, it never helped. It _was_ still tucked away in his nightstand though. There was something about it that felt wrong just throwing it out, as many times as he's tried to.

 

He shook his head, mentally changing stations. He had half a thought to call Jessica, and tell her what was going on. She was the only other person with whom he was even remotely close to. Maybe she might have some insight to it all. Make it seem like he was calling about work, then slip it in. "So, hey, remember that project we've been working on? Those reports are due by the end of the month, yeah? By the way, Sean came back to life last week, and I was wondering if you had any bags of blood lying around. No reason."

 

Mark snorted. Yeah, smooth, just like that.

Despite her being his only real friend there, and despite having thought about it more than once, he knew he couldn't. It was hard enough for _him_ to swallow, and he was actually witness to more than some of it. More hands would probably only complicate things, if that was even possible.

 

He flipped his glasses back on, and glanced at the clock. Another 10 minutes slipped by.

Was he really content with all this? Was he fine with letting another day go by, with no answers, no direction? Was he ok with letting Sean run away, possibly forever, and left to put everything together on his own?

 

No.

No he wasn't.

 

Mark stood, and immediately checked his pocket for his keys. He had to find him, somehow. And even if he had no idea where he was going, he knew it was better than just waiting it out again. He turned toward the door, but stopped before he even made it past his chair.

 

Was this the right thing to do? Or was he just being selfish?

 

Sean was an adult. He knew what he was doing. And if he didn't want to spend his undead existence here, then who was he to change that? What if Sean was better off? What if he was completely fine on his own? What if he figured everything out and was actually...happy?

 

Mark's face fell for a moment, as he let the last part echo around his skull. Happy. What if he was happy? What if he didn't need him? What if he was unwanted? What if, when he closed that door, he actually closed the door on their relationship as well?

 

He sat on those words as he stood, head slowly sinking down, thorns of doubt springing up all over any bit of resolve he had. Sean. His Jackaboy. Would he realty do that? Would he really shut him out, without giving him a chance?

 

Softly, the memory of how he looked that night stepped into his mind. He was so confused, and he was so upset. That stony face, those worried eyes, and the garbled knot that was visible throughout his body. That same face who never let him down before, the same one who was nothing but his cheerleader, the one that was there for him after every bad day, and the very same one that told him he loved him...would he really?

 

Mark drew in a breath and headed for the door, with faith that what he felt was stronger than what the voice in the back of his head was telling him. If he finds him... _when_ he finds him, the answer should be obvious.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Bernadette thumbed the grip on her steering wheel, the stiff golf ball texture giving way easily with each pass. What was she doing here?

 

It had been at least a half hour since she pulled up near Fischbach's apartment, yet still, she sat inside her car, constantly questioning why she was there, hands never leaving the foamy touch of the navy hoop. Something made her come out tonight, something that was a little more than curiosity, but not quite an open invitation, and a piece of her was still waiting for the better part of herself to speak up so she could go home. She was off the clock. This wasn't a priority investigation. As a matter of fact, aside from the body being stolen, this was actually an old case, one that at this point had run cold. Didn't Judd ask her to work on some of the paperwork? Wasn't there other things she should be turning her attention to?

 

She ran her tongue over her teeth, still stiffly placed in the drivers seat. Of course there were. There always was. But still that feeling persisted, that same one that brought her out here well after dark.

 

A flicker of light caught her eye, and she turned to face the front door, just across the street. A man with ratty hair and a red polo came out to the front step and sat down, the glow from his lighter highlighting his face for a moment before a great swell of smoke came billowing out from between his hands. She knew cigarettes didn't give off that much smoke, but she didn't care. That wasn't why she was here.

 

Why _was_ she here?

 

She turned her attention to the car parked in front of her, and let the question hang. There was no real reason to be here, just a feeling. An unexplainable, dense one at that. And maybe that's what it should of been all along, she thought. Maybe she let a little bit of impulsiveness get to her. Maybe she really _should_ find a hobby...

 

She reached for the ignition, but never turned it. Five minutes. Five minutes is all she needs. Five minutes to talk to Fischbach, and five minutes to kill the niggling feeling that brought her out here in the first place. Once she does that, she can let all of this go, and--

 

"Hey Mark!" she heard, warm and slow. She turned her head back to the front door to see the man in the red polo waving to the tan car just out front. The engine rolled and purred within seconds, and took off just as quickly.

 

Was that...Fischabach?

 

Bernadette threw off her seatbelt and hastily got out of her car, actions landing somewhere between rushed and proper. Closing the door with a measured smack, she crossed the street without even looking, making sure that her essentials were tucked away out of sight just in case.

 

"Hey..." she said, to the only other person out there, before even approaching the set of stairs, "...was that Mark Fischbach?"

 

The man looked at her for a moment before readjusting where he sat, tucking his smoke of choice under his palm, a weird sense of street cordiality taking over.

 

"Dunno. You a friend?"

 

"Not really. But I do need to talk to him. Was that him in the Corolla just now?"

 

The man on the staircase cocked his head to the side, eyes slightly squinted, as if he was trying to think of what to say. A thin grin came over his face a second later, as he took another puff from between his fingers, the halo of smoke ebbing from his lips much later than it should of been.

 

"You could always talk to _me_."

 

Bernadette internally rolled her eyes. With a sigh, she pulled her badge out of her pocket, and flashed it open.

 

"I don't think you'd want that."

 

A look of dread melted over the man's face, flicking the stubby wad of paper off into the distance as he scrambled to stand up. She raised her other hand just as quickly, stopping him in mid-scatter.

 

"Look, I don't care what you're doing. Just tell me...was that Mark Fischbach just now?"

 

"Y-yeah..." he stuttered out, "...is he in trouble?"

 

"No. No trouble..." she said, almost as if she was disappointed by the fact, "...just...had some questions for him."

 

"About...the _thing_..?" he hazard, still verbally walking on eggshells.

 

"Sort of." she said, face relaxing for a moment before turning back, an idea rolling out before she had time to process it, "Were you here when that happened?"

 

"Yeah..." he said, getting a slightly uncomfortable look on his face, "...I...I was actually the one who called about it."

 

Her face lit up. "So you're...David?" she asked, hoping her memory wasn't too far off.

 

"Just call me Dave. But...yeah."

 

She shifted from foot to foot for a second, that slight jolt of excitement from a new puzzle piece falling into place pulling her focus in more. Maybe _this_ is what that feeling was earlier. Maybe she really _did_ overlook something and just didn't fully catch it the first time.

 

"I can take a guess as to why you didn't want to leave a statement." she said, trying to warm up to her new-found friend.

 

He shrugged his shoulders and slumped down a little, looking almost as if he had been dejected.

 

"Hey. That's fine." she said, taking a seat an arm's length away, voice softening. "You had your reasons. I'm not faulting you for it."

 

"I... _wanted_ to..." he said, words peppered with hints of remorse, "...they were nice guys."

 

"You were friends?" she asked.

 

"Not really. But we'd say hi whenever we saw each other, and they didn't bother anyone. They didn't even tell me off when a few buddies of mine tried to get into their place."

 

Dave went silent before a wash of new panic set in on his face. "Like...they weren't trying to break in!" he quickly clarified, "They just...forgot where my front door was."

 

"I see." she said, looking out into the street.

 

The two sat side by side, under the false warmth of the light streaming from the front door, the shush of trees rustling in the distance. Bernadette knew she had to tread lightly if she wanted to get anything out of him, even if it was old information. Perspective was everything. One person's tall, dark and handsome was another persons huge, creepy and homely. And aside from the obvious, she didn't have much to go on. Now, if she could only find the right foothold...

 

"It was a scream." he said, low and quiet.

 

"A...what?" she asked, only catching part of it.

 

"A scream. I heard a scream, and lots of slamming. That's why I called." he said, with a slight sigh.

 

He readjusted himself, taking a moment to reflect on what he was saying before continuing, "I mean...it could of been just an argument or something, but...it didn't seem like it."

 

A long pause, and more silence. Dave almost seemed to be chewing on his words, with the way his teeth nibbled at the insides of his thin cheeks.

 

"And after I made the call...I got scared." he said, drawing it out, as if it were a great weight he was carrying, "So I left. Through the bathroom window. Hung out at my mom's house for a few days. When I came back, that's when I found out."

 

"You didn't hear any news reports?" she asked.

 

"No. My mom doesn't have a TV. She's half blind anyway with cataracts and--" he drifted, eyes looking over and the now smoldering stub, faint wisps of whatever was left dying on the sidewalk.

 

"So, um..." he trailed, jaw wavering for a lack of words reaching his head, "Ah...yeah. I'm...I'm gonna go to bed. I suddenly feel kind of tired." he said, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. Bernadette could of sworn his whites looked redder than before just now.

 

"I understand." she said, watching him stand.

 

"G'night." he muttered, shuffling back up the steps.

 

"Good night. And...Dave?"

 

He turned, still looking as if he was about to be arrested, eyebrows raised.

 

"My name is Bernadette Moore. If you ever want to talk, even anonymously, I'm all ears. Just call the precinct. I'm at extension 138."

 

He nodded, and gave a sheepish wave before heading back inside. Somehow though, she knew, she probably wasn't going to hear from him again.

 

She stood, crossing her arms, eyes on her car. Was that it? Was that the great bug picking at the back of her mind? Talking to the semi-witness who most likely would of just been a footnote on paper? And for what? Nothing he said had anything to it, other than why he never answered his door or his phone, as may times as they tried.

 

No. No, that couldn't of been it. There was something...something here that she still hadn't seen or heard yet. She could almost feel it.

 

Fischbach was out, though. And there was no way of knowing how long he would be gone. She could look up his cell phone number and call, but as late as it was, she knew that would be a gamble if he even picked up. She could just leave a message. A little note on the front door, a voicemail at work...something. But, that wasn't going to fix that anomaly that brought her out here in the first place...and who knows if he'll even get back to her.

 

She walked over to the now cold roll of paper, cherry snuffed from the impact on the pavement. Her mouth twisted to the side as she considered it. It was just a piece of trash now, but it had meant something at one point. She gingerly picked it up, touching it only with her fingertips, and looked for a better place to put it. As much as she didn't like the idea of being someone's butler or a street cleaner of some kind, she hated the idea of a kid or dog finding a surprise like this more.

 

Around the side of the apartment building sat a row of dark green, nearly black Rubbermaid cans, barely visible aside from their white, spray painted street numbers on them. Tipping the lid on the first can she was closest to, she tossed the butt inside.

 

Bernadette almost closed the top just as quickly, when she caught sight of something...strange.

 

Tucked away, almost folded on top of the rest of the garbage sat a gray, mud-caked suit jacket. It looked like it had been dragged through seven layers of earth, and had the rips and missing buttons to prove it. She picked it up, carefully, and let it unfold by itself from the collar, clouds of umber dust falling in heavy plumes, black stains marring the front lapels, smudges of rust around the sleeves and dotting the front in a spray pattern.

 

She stared at it, unsure of what she was looking at. Did someone...go _gardening_ in a suit? And why?

 

Still holding the jacket, she looked back one more time at the bin, hoping to find a pair of fancy gardening gloves or golden trowels to go with it, mind wavering between possibilities. Was it a really bad day at the office? Or maybe it was an old project? Maybe someone cleaned out their closet space, and reused the material one last time? Whatever it was, it certainly would of made a great costume. They really could of pulled off the zombie look.

 

Instead of finding any sort of accessories or clues as to what the mystery of the marled formal wear was, she saw a bill perched plainly on top, unopened. A bill, with a very familiar name, written in big, bold letters.

 

Slowly, she turned her head back to the jacket, and stared.

 

And all at once, like a great secret being revealed to her, the feeling hit... _this_ is what she was here for.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. 
> 
> I'll admit, the flow of this is a little lacking, but I'd rather not sit on it any longer. I'll try to do better next time.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from a Cure song of the same name. Go give it a listen. 
> 
> And as always, comments of all kinds are welcomed and greatly appreciated.
> 
> :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [It will always be too soon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654530) by [Roosterbytes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roosterbytes/pseuds/Roosterbytes)
  * [Mark My Words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747687) by [also_ryatt (TideNightWalker)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TideNightWalker/pseuds/also_ryatt)




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